


Home is where the heart is

by crimson_calamity



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Blood and Gore, Fluff and Angst, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Im Jaebum | JB-Centric, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mental Health Issues, Mild Horror, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Sexual Content, Survival Horror, and descriptions thereof later, injury detail
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22322800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimson_calamity/pseuds/crimson_calamity
Summary: No one ever named the thing that caused all this. No Event, no Incident, no Happening. It just--happened. No one knows why; some say secret experiments gone wrong, some say aliens, some say God. But all anyone really knows, is that it happened. One day, a lifetime and a half ago, reality came apart. Not all at once but slowly, piece by piece, spreading around the world like a cancer, consuming everything in its path.Jaebeom, just like everyone else in this ruined world, is just trying to survive.
Relationships: Im Jaebum | JB/Jackson Wang, Im Jaebum | JB/Mark Tuan, Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung, Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung/Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang
Comments: 29
Kudos: 73
Collections: GOT7 Hyungline Poly Agenda





	1. You can take my heart

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome friends to the weird scifi apocalypse au!!! I hope u will enjoy it!! some things to bear in mind; this fic is going to involve some gore/injury detail and some mental health issues including panic attacks and PTSD like things so please take care of yourselves!! if that's not smth you want to read about, feel free to press the back button now or at any time during reading if u need to!! there will also be some sexual content and a lot of polyamory so be aware!! This fic is going to be very heavily jaebeom centric so while all four of hyung line are in a relationship, there's going to be a major focus on jaebeom's relationships with the others because that's what I want to write about <3 so enjoy!!
> 
> also!! the chapter titles are from the song [chvrches - death stranding](https://youtu.be/tae8F4gkfiw) from the game death stranding, which was one of the inspirations for this fic!! death stranding, another game called control and the scp wiki were all inspirations for this fic!! the phrase reality anchor comes from the scp wiki in fact but it's a slightly different concept here <3 go check all of those things out!!

Dusk is nearly dying when Jaebeom makes it into town, cutting it fine as he so often does. He rolls into the patch of broken concrete that passes for a place to park and switches off his bike, kicking down the stand and looking back over his shoulder; the haze hanging over the wastes glows violet, outmatching the last struggling rays of sunlight filtering through the clouds above. It’s been a rough day, storming for most of it, the static in the air whipping everything into a frenzy and waking the things out there early, the accelerator pistols on Jaebeom’s belt only just cooled and all charges spent, shrapnel round clips empty. He was lucky to make it here in one piece, but thankfully things quieted down closer to the city limits. 

Tugging his scarf down from his mouth and nose and throwing off his hood, Jaebeom turns away from the desolation beyond the city, away from the barrier and the reality anchors maintaining it, tall steel sentinels at the edges of his sight keeping the wastes at bay, to the light spilling from the Last Post. There are always lights in the Last Post. Rolling his shoulders and coughing haze-dust from his throat, Jaebeom steps off the bike, patting the pockmarked windscreen and tugging his right glove down to slide its switch to lock. 

He readjusts his gloves, worn stained leather with buckled straps at the wrists as he shoulders into the bar, flexing his fingers and scratching absently at the phantom itch on his right palm. It’s quiet, quieter than normal. Storms scare people off on the best of days, and today’s was a storm to be reckoned with. 

“Evening, stranger,” teases Jinyoung, braced against the bar with a dishcloth slung over one shoulder, the curling neon lights behind him, white and pink and green, mingling on the polished surface, “you’re almost late.” Jaebeom snorts, the door swinging closed with a thud behind him. The few people who’ve trekked out to this place, hardened drunks and lonely hearts, pay him no mind as he walks up to the bar and slides into a stool, shrugging off his bag and dropping it to the floor. He recognises most of them. He’s not sure if they recognise him. “You’re filthy.” Jinyoung says cheerily, with only a tiny glint of melancholy and restrained worry in his eyes, taking the dishcloth from his shoulder and chucking it over to him. Jaebeom fishes it up, cheeks flushing under the layer of haze-dust residue staining his face. He wipes the worst of it from his face and neck, grimacing at the red-violet-grey smears left on the fabric. Thankfully his clothes, long black duster and combat trousers tucked into steel-toed boots, and rucksack are mostly clean, the false leather engineered to repel haze-dust, just a thin layer of red-brown dirt clinging to his boots and the hem of his coat.

“Thanks.” He mumbles, crumpling the ruined cloth in his hand. Eyes crinkled and soft at the corners, Jinyoung smiles, a lopsided lazy thing, and beckons for it back.

“You lose your mask by any chance?” He says slyly. As though conjured by Jinyoung’s words, Jaebeom’s chest seizes and he coughs into his hand; this time there’s nothing to hide his flush and it only gets deeper when Jinyoung’s grin widens, lips parting over white teeth. He steps back, tossing the cloth into the bin at the other end of the bar and reaching down below the counter. “You left it at Jackson’s last time you were here.” His eyebrow quirks suggestively and Jaebeom coughs again, ears warming up under his stare; he picks up the mask when Jinyoung slides it towards him, fiddling with the air filters and peering at the lenses to hide his shyness from Jinyoung’s knowing stare.

“Thanks.” He repeats dumbly, clipping it onto the free space on his belt. Jinyoung hums, leaning over the bar with his elbows planted and his chin in his hands when Jaebeom looks up again.

“You’re welcome,” he purrs, a mischievous glint in his eye, “but you owe me a favour now, baby.” Jaebeom sighs, eyeing him with equal parts suspicion and fluster. 

"Didn't you owe me anyway?" He grumbles, whole face warm now. "For the last time you-" Jaebeom's glad he doesn't have to finish that thought; Jinyoung screws his face up, pouting flush pink lips and wrinkling his nose. 

"Can't you just let me have fun?" He whines, standing straight and folding his arms petulantly. Jaebeom sighs, but he can't help his fond smile. It's not like he needs to owe him a favour to do anything Jinyoung wants of him after all. 

"I guess you are letting me sleep on your couch." He acquiesces begrudgingly. Jinyoung's eyes light up again and he grins, all wide and satisfied. 

He leans over the counter, palms planted on the sticky plastic surface, but as his mouth opens, the chorus begins. Distant, overlapping voices from the haze wastes, shrieking and wailing, just like they do every night, but one of the drunks jumps and swears in some dead dialect and knocks their beer flying. Jinyoung levers his mouth shut with a disgruntled sigh and slumps, rolling his eyes at Jaebeom before plastering on a sympathetic smile and grabbing a fresh cloth. Jaebeom smiles down at his hands, plucking at the buckle on his right wrist and scratching another phantom itch on the back of his hand. 

“Mark’s looking for you, you know?” Jinyoung calls from the back. Jaebeom, his head pillowed on his folded arms and his eyelids drooping closed despite the screams outside, grunts in response. He’s the only one left in the bar, the few other patrons trickling home once the chorus began. It tends to put a damper on any night, even for the most determined drinkers. “He’s got a present for you.” Jaebeom hums, blinking blearily and turning his head, chin on his arms now. Jinyoung emerges through the bead curtain - nylon threads strung with dust-smoothed glass from the edges of the barrier - with a flourish.

“What is it?” He mumbles, eyes heavy and drooping shut again when Jinyoung chuckles and prods his cheek. It’s been a long day. And he might now be feeling the effects of driving through the haze without a mask. Haze immunity only goes so far; sure, the dust doesn’t kill him if he breathes it, but ten hours of the stuff can take it out of even the hardiest dustrunner out there.

“I can’t tell you that,” he says mock-reproachfully, “it’s a present.” His fingers trail up Jaebeom’s cheek, gliding over his temple before smoothing along his hair. Jaebeom makes a disgruntled noise when he tugs at the elastic band, his hair falling free of its little tufty ponytail and flopping over his forehead and into his closed eyes. It doesn’t stay tickly for long though, because Jinyoung’s hands slide into it, combing it back and stroking it through his fingers. “I like your hair like this.” He says, all sure and satisfied. Jaebeom huffs and cracks an eye open.

“You just like having more to play with.” He grumbles, no heat to his slurred voice. Jinyoung grins down at him and fists a handful of his hair; Jaebeom whines pitifully when he’s dragged upright, scalp prickling painfully, but he makes no move to stop him.

“True,” Jinyoung murmurs, letting go to hop up onto the counter and swing himself around so Jaebeom on his stool is sat between his knees; his hands slide back into Jaebeom’s hair, massaging and stroking until he melts again, “but it also makes you look even prettier.” He coos. Jaebeom scoffs and squeezes his eyes shut again, the compliment settling all warm and cosy into his chest. Jinyoung’s hands slip down, palms warm on Jaebeom’s cheeks and his thumbs stroking delicately under his eyes.

He bends close, warm breath ghosting a kiss against his lips a second before the actual contact. Fleeting pressure, barely a peck, then Jinyoung pulls away, chuckling when Jaebeom tries to follow.

“It’s been quiet around here while you were out.” He says, softly teasing.

“Liar.” Jaebeom mumbles. Jinyoung giggles and drops a kiss onto the tip of his nose, ignoring both his huff and his pitiful attempts to get him to move a little lower.

“Fine, it’s been  _ dull _ while you were out,” he says breezily, thumbs rubbing slow arcs onto his cheekbones, “I’ve  _ missed  _ you. Is that what you want to hear?” Still teasing, but there’s a genuine note of wistful melancholy behind it. Jaebeom opens his eyes. Jinyoung, ringed by a halo of pink and green neon, smiles down at him, eyes crinkled into whiskers at the corners. “Don’t-” he cautions when Jaebeom opens his mouth- “don’t apologise. You don’t need to. I miss you whenever you aren’t here, doesn’t matter why.” Jaebeom’s apologies fizzle on his tongue and he closes his mouth again, warmth prickling on his cheeks and in his chest. Jinyoung’s smile softens impossibly further and he bends down again, lips lingering for a few seconds. 

“I missed you too.” Jaebeom whispers, one of the knots in his stomach coming loose and dissolving into nothing when Jinyoung smiles sunnily and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Come on, dustrunner,” he murmurs, “you look dead on your feet. Let’s get you to bed.” He shuffles to the side, swinging a leg over Jaebeom’s knees to slide to the floor. Blinking sluggishly, Jaebeom wobbles to his feet. He’s more tired than he realised, but ten hours on a bike will do that on the best of runs, let alone the hassle this one turned out to be. That’s what he gets for taking mail deliveries for free he supposes. Jinyoung takes his right arm, looping it over his shoulders in a hug that turns into him holding up most of Jaebeom’s weight. Jaebeom can’t bring himself to feel guilty though, not when Jinyoung just snickers and hauls him closer like he’s about to hoist him onto his hip like a baby.

“Don’t laugh at me.” He mumbles. Jinyoung just snorts louder and taps the back of his right hand. 

“Unlock your bike,” he chuckles, “you’re too high to drive.” Jaebeom’s about to protest, but the edge of the barrier starts swimming, twisting into weird shapes and colours he shouldn’t be able to see when he glances at it, so he shuts his mouth again and fumbles at his glove. He gets the strap open and flicks the switch; Jinyoung eyes the seam between metal and flesh on his wrist with the corners of his lips turned down, but he doesn’t say anything. 

Steadying Jaebeom with one arm, he flips the kickstand back up, swinging a leg over the seat and jerking his chin behind him. Embarrassed at his own incapacitation and grumbling under his breath, Jaebeom reluctantly hops on behind him, winding both arms around his waist and burying his face into the back of his neck. 

"Hey, relax," Jinyoung murmurs, reaching back to ruffle his hair, "it happens baby, don't beat yourself up. I'm just glad you're safe now." Jaebeom breathes out as the engine stutters then purrs to life, a plume of burnt red smoke puffing from the exhaust. The sour-sweet smell of charred haze-dust in the air, Jinyoung speeds away, leaving the screaming chorus behind them. 

Jaebeom zones out for the whole journey, eyes closed, timing his breaths with Jinyoung’s measured exhales and just feeling the cool night air whip past them. It’s not long before they roll to a stop though, Jinyoung kicking down the stand and reaching back to touch his arm. 

“Come on baby,” he says gently, “we’re here, nearly time to sleep.” Jaebeom sits up but doesn’t stand, obediently waiting for Jinyoung to help him up; he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t and he’s beginning to feel genuinely shaky now, so it’s probably for the best. Jinyoung seems pleased though, radiating warmth and contentment as he slings Jaebeom’s arm around his neck again and winds an arm around his waist in return, leading him into the towering apartment block before them and beelining for the one working lift. It lurches and shakes and creaks like an ancient beast unwillingly aroused from its slumber, but it gets them up to the 31st floor with only a few shuddering stops. Jinyoung leads them down the corridor which smells faintly of bleach and something burnt before stopping in front of a familiar door.

“Home sweet home.” Jinyoung murmurs like he does every time they step into his assigned apartment, a single room with a creaking single bed, a rickety couch, a closet bathroom and a tiny stove top above a microwave. Jaebeom snorts a weak laugh like he always does, trying in vain to step away and hold his own weight against the back of the couch, but Jinyoung won’t let go, keeping him tight to his side until he’s locked the door then leading him over to the bed. He sits Jaebeom down then perches next to him, one firm hand gripping his chin and turning his face towards himself. Jaebeom huffs, face prickling with warmth under his intense scrutiny, examining his eyes and turning his head to peer at his ears. “Did you pop an eardrum again?” He asks disapprovingly. Jaebeom bats his hand away and shakes his head, only to sway in place when the room jars and spins. Stomach lurching, vision turning black, he doubles over, ignoring Jinyoung’s anxious squawk and bracing his head between his knees. Maybe he wasn’t in a fit state to drive after all.

Jinyoung falls quiet while Jaebeom waits for the dizzy spell to pass, his palm rubbing soothing lines up and down Jaebeom’s back. He scoots closer when Jaebeom gingerly sits up and rubs his eyes, fingers slipping into his hair and stroking gently.

“You okay?” He whispers. Jaebeom blinks hard, then looks at him. He’s frowning, chewing anxiously on the inside of his cheek, but he offers Jaebeom a small smile anyway. 

“Yeah,” mumbles Jaebeom, gaze slipping away bashfully, “just- yeah. You were right.” He admits reluctantly. Jinyoung snorts, the hand not in Jaebeom’s hair coming up to press to his cheek and slowly, gently turn his head back towards him.

“I always am.” He says smugly, but his smile glows in the weak light spilling from the single bulb in the middle of the room. 

Jaebeom wakes before dawn. Jinyoung's apartment is far enough away from the barrier that the screams aren't audible but he wakes with them ringing in his ears anyway, their distorted voices crying out his name. He shakes his aching head, pressing the heels of his trembling hands into his eyes hard enough to see blots of colour. Dust dreams feel realer than reality at times; ironic really, considering haze-dust arises from the breakdown thereof. He doesn’t remember exactly what he dreamed this time, grappling with scraps of colour and twisted shapes in his mind, but even so it’s left him disquieted, his heart fluttering like a trapped bird and his nerves shredded to pieces. 

Jinyoung shifts in bed, the new angle dragging a snore from his throat. The noise, sudden and sharp, startles Jaebeom upright; he squints over at him, blinking hard until the technicolour halo from the light filtering through the blinds above the bed fades. He’s fast asleep, sprawled on his belly with the covers tangled between his legs, soft and content. Something plucking at his heart, Jaebeom wobbles to his feet and pads over to gently drag the duvet up over his bare shoulders. He stirs, but he doesn’t wake up. He won’t until nearly midday, if Jaebeom had to guess. 

Carefully, as quietly as he can, Jaebeom undresses - he dimly remembers changing from his travel gear into a borrowed set of pyjamas with a lot of help from a giggling Jinyoung last night - and slips into the bathroom. Barely a cubicle, the toilet slid back into the compartment in the wall, but right now the lukewarm water and faintly scented soap and shampoo are the height of luxury, so nice it is to scrub the last of the dust and the dirt from his skin. He grants himself a few seconds just standing once the timer automatically shuts it off, head down, eyes closed, water dripping from the ends of his hair. But he can’t just stand here all day; he shoves his hair back with a sigh and smacks a fist against the button for the heater, blasts of warm air quickly drying him off. 

Jinyoung’s still asleep by the time he’s dressed, curled into a ball on his side with a little frown tugging his eyebrows down. Jaebeom drops a kiss onto the side of his head, warmth blooming in his chest like a flower when his expression smoothes out and he settles a little easier, then grabs his duster and rucksack and slips out of the room. By now, there’s dawn sunlight leaking through the imperfect blackout on the windows of the staircase, tinted violet; there must have been another storm last night, whipping the dust into the air. Jaebeom’s surprised he slept through it. 

Sure enough, kicked as high as the apex of the dome surrounding the city, there’s pink-purple-grey dust blocking out any view past the barrier, the sun shining through it bathing everything in a pinkish glow. Jaebeom sighs and trudges to his bike, flicking the switch to unlocked and fishing his gloves from his coat pocket. He tugs them on and flexes his fingers, the leather too worn to squeak against itself. There’s dust clinging to the scratches and creases in the material. Maybe it’s time to find a new pair. 

He straddles the bike and kicks the stand up, revving it to life and settling down with a sigh as he accelerates away from Jinyoung’s building. As he winds through crumbling skyscraper-lined streets and swerves around particularly large cracks in the concrete, he wonders if he should have left a note. He doesn’t usually and Jinyoung’s never mentioned it. Besides, it’s not like he doesn’t know where he’s going; several times he’s turned up at Mark’s or Jackson’s a couple of hours after Jaebeom left his. The city’s just more peaceful at night, no voices, no shouts, no engines besides the quiet purr of his own. He’d rather just get where he’s going and hide away from the bustle during the day.

Mark’s workshop lies on the outskirts, in the extreme north of the city, right next to the river and as close to a reality anchor as it’s safe to live. Jaebeom doesn’t like passing them nowadays; they make his bones hurt, set his teeth on edge, the reality around them just slightly  _ too  _ real. It’s always worse when he’s just come in from the wastes too, like they don’t like him being there. He’s just not quite real  _ enough  _ anymore _.  _ Mark though, he likes them. Says they’re reassuring. Jaebeom thinks he just likes being alone; not many people willingly venture so close to the anchors, but thankfully his house, a sprawling rundown thing with more rooms than he knows what to do with, is far enough away that Jaebeom can stay for a time without wanting to pull all his teeth out. Too close to the edge for anyone else though, no one else lives nearby. Too close to the chorus and the barrier and the things that want to claw their way inside. 

Jaebeom brakes, rolling to a stop in front of the garages out front. Their doors long gone, melted down for scrap, they’ve become the main floor of Mark’s workshop. To no one’s surprise, he’s already working, on his back under a beaten up truck hoisted up on a jack, overalls smeared with oil and elbow deep in the engine bay. Jaebeom, not wanting to make him jump, parks the bike and shuffles slowly closer, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

“Morning,” comes Mark’s voice though, a little rough with disuse but warm and glowing, “you’re later than I thought you’d be.” Jaebeom huffs a laugh, bowing his head and scrubbing at one eye with a knuckle, numb right hand hanging limp at his side.

“Forgot my mask. Haze knocked me out.” He mumbles. Mark snorts, then there’s clanging of tools and squeaking of ball bearings as he slides out from under the truck and sits up. There’s oil smudged on his cheeks and bags under his eyes, but his smile is no less warm for it. 

“Dumbass,” he says fondly, wiping his hands on a cloth and clambering to his feet, “how bad were the dreams?” Jaebeom shifts his weight between his feet and looks down, damp hair hanging in front of his eyes. 

“Not too bad.” He grits out, skin prickling and his head aching just trying to remember. Mark hums. Boots crunch on loose stones, then there’s a hand on the back of his neck, squeezing gently.

“Yeah,” Mark murmurs, dripping with melancholy, “me too.” As it always does, a pang of guilt spears into Jaebeom. These, his lingering nightmares from haze exposure as a kid and all the other bad experiences after that, most of which were Jaebeom’s fault, are why Mark lives next to a reality anchor. Jaebeom shuts his eyes when Mark sighs and tugs him forwards until his forehead hits his shoulder, thumb caressing the nape of his neck; he has to hunch over to keep it there and hug him properly, but it’s worth the neckache and the oil smears on his gloves from clutching at the waist of Mark’s overalls when he chuckles and leans his head against Jaebeom’s. It’s quiet, the chorus from beyond the barrier dead again at sunrise, just the faintest rustle of leaves from the shrubs Mark tends so carefully in front of the house. Quiet. Peaceful. It’s not something Jaebeom gets to appreciate very often.

“Jinyoung said you wanted to see me.” He whispers, not quite wanting an answer enough to break the lull cradling them. Mark hums, sliding his hand higher, fingers combing gently through the damp tangles at Jaebeom’s nape. 

“I always want to see you,” he whispers back, just as softly, gently teasing but genuine enough for Jaebeom to make a little embarrassed noise and hide his face in the crook of his neck, “but I have something for you too. Found it last time I went scrapping.” He pauses, gently pushing Jaebeom back until he’s looking him in the eye, a pretty grin on his face. Jaebeom returns it sheepishly, eyes drooping shut when he leans forwards. His kiss is confident, both hands grasping Jaebeom’s jaw to adjust his angle before coaxing his lips open; he doesn't have to think about it, just responds instinctively to Mark's lead. It's nice not to have to think after a run like yesterday's. It might be too much so early in the morning though; Jaebeom's lightheaded by the time Mark pulls back, swaying in place and blinking hazily at him when he chuckles hoarsely and swipes a thumb over his slick bottom lip. "C'mon inside, I'll show you what I've got for you." 

Mark takes his left hand, gently tugging him towards the house. Jaebeom manages not to stumble, wiping his mouth on the back of his right wrist and flushing pink when Mark glances back at him knowingly. He leads him through the garage, through a door propped open by a dead car battery and into a gutted kitchen, the sink and a few countertops the only things still standing, the oven and fridge and microwave long obsolete and scavenged for parts, into what was once probably a dining room, now turned into another workshop. Tools and scrap are scattered over the tables, three of them shoved together. There's a couple of chairs around, one or two matching one of the tables and a big cushioned office chair with wheels askew besides the little clear patch where Mark works. 

"Sit," says Mark, dragging one of the wooden chairs over and pushing Jaebeom into it, "take your glove off." He doesn't have to specify which; Jaebeom strips off his right, flexing his fingers and fighting the urge to scratch the back of it. There's no point, it's just metal after all, just gears and plating, no feeling besides phantom twinges. He does massage his wrist though, thumbing the seam between flesh and metal and imagining the integrated nerves and tissues below it, until Mark takes his hand to stop him. "I found a sensation chip." Jaebeom's head snaps up, eyes wide. 

"What?" He gasps. Mark grins, pride and excitement written on his face. He plops down into the office chair and starts poking through the pile of tools next to him. 

"I found one. It should fit your hand." He brandishes a pair of pliers triumphantly and picks up a little box, something that probably once held a pair of earrings. Now though, now it holds something else. Something better. Mark snaps it open and holds it out and nestled in the black velvet is a microchip. "Here-" he sets it down and reaches for Jaebeom's hand, taking his fingers gently and positioning the pliers at the edge of the plate covering the back of it- "I'll set it for you." He says, brimming with excitement. Jaebeom can't help grinning too; his enthusiasm would be infectious even if Jaebeom wasn't elated anyway. He hasn't felt anything, not even pressure, in this hand since he lost it, the replacement necessarily hasty, the actual prosthetic only half-built and integrated in a rush. For a while, it was stripped bare, just enough to give utility, a horrible skeletal thing that Jaebeom could barely look at, but with Mark’s help he’s built it into something less disturbing. 

Mark pops the backplate off, revealing the mess of metallic tendons and bones and for now useless nerve wires within. Jaebeom looks away, swallowing thickly and squeezing his eyes shut, willing the memories not to resurface. Mark knows, of course; he wheels his chair a little closer, knee pressing reassuringly into Jaebeom’s thigh as he works as quickly and carefully as he can, picking through the interior of Jaebeom’s hand to free up the port for the chip.

“I’ll switch it on once everything’s closed back up,” he says softly as he slots it into place, “it might feel weird for a few seconds, just while it sets up the correct levels of feedback.” Jaebeom nods, metal fingers twitching when Mark knocks a tendon. He sets down the screwdriver with a click, then snaps the backplate back into place; finally Jaebeom dares look, watching, tense, as Mark gently turns his hand over to peer at the switches on his wrist. He presses a tiny one on the inside corner just below his thumb with a needle thin screwdriver, then waits.

Nothing for a second, long enough for Jaebeom to open his mouth to ask, but then  _ something _ ; something halfway between pain and numbness, sharp prickling pins and needles from the tips of his fingers up to where metal meets flesh. It spikes, real pain spearing into it, like something’s pierced through his palm again; Jaebeom hisses, fingers clenching into a fist, but it passes as quickly as it came, settling down into- 

“Oh-” he can feel Mark’s hand on his wrist, the warmth of his fingers, how gently he’s cradling the back of his hand, on the metal, he can really feel it, just like he could on normal skin- “Mark.” He sounds silly, choked up and breathless, even to his own ears, but Mark’s eyes are glossy over a blinding smile when he twists his hand to cling onto his and looks up. 

“Did it work?” He rasps. Jaebeom sniffs and nods and beams at him, squeezing his hand; tears spill down his face when he feels Mark squeeze back and he throws an arm around his neck, dragging him closer and burying his face into his shoulder.

“Thank you.” He croaks. Mark sniffs too, a wet laugh bubbling out of him.

“It was the least I could do after-” he mumbles, voice thick with guilt he never needed to feel, but he stops when Jaebeom shakes his head and makes a protesting noise, sniffling a stilted laugh and pressing a kiss to the side of his head- “okay. You're welcome.” 

Jaebeom spends the rest of the day at Mark’s. He’s busy, commissions for custom parts and vehicle repairs mostly, though there are a few busted sentries and delivery robots sitting deactivated in the back of the garage too. Jaebeom mostly stays out of his way unless called over to help; now he’s got feeling back in his right, he actually has use as another pair of hands. It’s only now he can truly appreciate how clumsy he’d been since, well. Since he’d lost it. 

When he’s not helping or restocking and cleaning his poor spent pistols, he mostly curls up in the corner of Mark’s workshop, in the ratty but comfortable chair he keeps there specifically for Jaebeom or Jackson or Jinyoung or any combination thereof, whoever is visiting at the time. He spends a lot of that time asleep or dozing, still exhausted from the run and the dust drop, but while he’s awake he reads, or just watches Mark work. He’s a wonder to watch, so quietly confident in everything he does, his hands so easily switching between strong and sure or delicate and precise as the need arises. 

He’s zoned out watching when Mark finishes up. Only half awake, he doesn’t think to stop, to look away and pretend he wasn’t staring, when Mark hops to his feet with a groan and turns around, not until he’s crouching in front of him with a smug grin on his pretty lips. There’s a smudge of oil on the bridge of his nose. 

“Having fun?” He asks, tilting his head to match the angle of Jaebeom’s; he’s curled on his side, temple on the arm of the chair. Jaebeom shuts his eyes, trying not to pout as warmth rises in his face. “That a yes?” He giggles, fingertips skimming Jaebeom’s forehead as he brushes his hair back. 

“No.” Jaebeom mutters, turning his face into the chair with a huff. His nose squishes uncomfortably against the threadbare fabric, but that’s less important than making a point. Mark snorts, pinching his earlobe and tugging gently.

“You staying at Jinyoung’s again?” He asks in lieu of pushing it. Jaebeom grunts into the chair. 

“No.” He repeats; it’s the end of the week, he’ll be working all night regardless of the chorus outside and Jaebeom doesn’t like imposing, not when he knows how tired Jinyoung will be, regardless that he knows Jinyoung wouldn’t mind. Mark hums, thumb rubbing the front of his earlobe.

“You can always stay here.” He says, so lightly, like it’s a given. Doubly stressed, primarily on the  _ here,  _ an offer for tonight, but gently on the  _ always _ too. Jaebeom breathes in the scent of old cloth and machine oil, then turns his head, cheek pillowed on the arm and his eyes blinking open. Mark still smiling, gentle and so warm, so full of care that Jaebeom doesn’t know what to do with, that he’s never known what to do with, only getting fuller every time he comes back here.

“Okay.” He whispers simply. He wishes he knew how to tell him just how much he means to him, how much all of them mean to him, but there aren’t enough words to say it. But, he thinks when Mark’s smile softens even more, maybe he doesn’t need to say it. Maybe they know, just like he knows the same for them.

“I love you.” He says anyway, weak and meaningless compared to the depth of feeling burning in his chest. Mark smooths his hair back off his forehead and leans forwards, pressing a gentle lingering kiss to his cheek. 

“I love you too.” He whispers, warmth overfull and spilling over; he stands up, offering a hand. Jaebeom sits up straight and takes it with his right; it’s warm and calloused and wonderfully, reassuringly real. Unable to stop himself smiling, Jaebeom lets Mark drag him from the workshop and into the house. 

“How’s Jackson?” Calls Jaebeom, scrubbing his face dry with a threadbare towel. Mark hums, lounging against the pile of pillows at the head of his oversized bed - bigger than a king, scavenged from some nearby fancy hotel, the building now neglected and falling down, too close to the reality anchor for anyone to live there - when Jaebeom emerges from the bathroom. 

“He’s good,” he muses, gaze sliding away from the muted TV, the screen mounted onto the wall with cables bristling from the back of it, “thinks he’s near to a breakthrough.” He sounds proud and exasperated in equal measure. Jaebeom hums, bending down to rummage in his rucksack for something to sleep in; he comes out with a pair of worn-soft sweatpants and a ratty tank top, but it’s not like Mark hasn’t seen him looking worse. He chucks them onto the covers near Mark’s legs and strips off his t-shirt, folding it up and dropping it atop his backpack. 

“Is he sleeping?” Jaebeom asks, also exasperated. Jackson tends to forget to do so when he’s  _ not  _ busy. Mark doesn’t respond, long enough for Jaebeom to look up from his fumbling at his belt; easier now he’s got two fully working hands, but the new sensations are making for a different kind of clumsiness. Mark’s just staring at him, chin propped on his hand with his elbow planted among cushions, eyes lingering somewhere around his hips. “Yah, I’m talking to you.” He aims for gently reprimanding, but he just sounds flustered. Mark, lips curling up at the corners in a pleased little smirk, shrugs and keeps staring.

“Jinyoung’s making sure he is.” He murmurs. Jaebeom, having forgotten his own question for an instant, coughs and nods a beat too late; he turns away when Mark’s smirk pulls wider, a sharp canine flashing in the washed out light from the TV and quickly shoves his trousers off, head down and avoiding his eyes when he stomps over to the bed. He gets the sweatpants on before the bed creaks and a hand lands on his forearm, sliding down to tangle real fingers with metal; Mark smiles, soft with an edge of mischief, gently tugging him forwards. “C’mere,” he murmurs, tugging harder when Jaebeom hesitates, “please?” He cocks his head, pouting all sweetly in that way Jaebeom just can’t turn down; he grins, shuffling back against the headboard when Jaebeom sighs and follows, clambering onto the bed after him. He lets him maneuver him onto his lap, settling onto his thighs and folding his arms. 

“Happy now?” He grumbles. Mark doesn’t answer, just grins and grabs the back of his neck and pulls him down into a kiss. For all his griping, Jaebeom melts embarrassingly quickly; Mark’s hands slide down to his waist when Jaebeom’s find his jaw, slipping his tongue into his mouth and sighing sweetly.

“Very,” he whispers, lips against Jaebeom’s cheek when they part for air, nose gliding against his cheekbone before he presses a kiss just in front of his ear, “not such a hardship, right?” He purrs, grinning against Jaebeom’s neck when he shivers. He stays silent though, lips pressed together petulantly, but he doesn’t think he’s fooling anyone. Especially not when Mark’s hands drag lower, tracing over his hips to squeeze his thighs, lips trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down his throat, when he’s the one pulling Mark in, spine curving and trembling fingers grappling at his shoulder and the back of his neck, skin warm under both hands.

“Mark-” he sighs, barely a breath behind it. Mark hums, grins and grazes teeth against the corner of his jaw.

“You remember when you last stayed? When we raced to the barrier and back?” He rasps, voice dropping into a lazy drawl. Jaebeom flushes but huffs an affirmative; he tries to shift, wriggle back enough to look at him, but his lips press to his throat again, teeth closing on tender skin gentle enough to tease, but hard enough to warn. “What was it you said before we started?” He whispers, biting another, sharper caution into Jaebeom’s neck when he grumbles wordlessly. Jaebeom hisses and twists, pulse thumping in his throat and his belly.

“I’ll show you how to ride.” He grits out, jaw tight with embarrassment and anticipation. Mark hums a lilting affirmative, pressing a gentler kiss to the spot his teeth dug into.

“You were so cocky. And then you lost.” One of his hands slides upwards, flat along the length of his spine then fisting in his hair, dragging him back. It stings, prickling on his scalp; Mark’s grin sharpens enough to cut when it drags a whine from his throat, but his eyes twinkle softly, reassuringly. Jaebeom’s chest heaves, gasping for air that suddenly feels thick. “I wasn’t impressed,” he continues lazily, casually confident, the contrast stark enough to himself that Jaebeom barely stops himself squirming in his lap, “but maybe-” his other hand squeezes, sliding higher up Jaebeom’s thigh until his thumb digs in precariously close to the swell in his pants; Jaebeom gasps, clutching weakly at his thin t-shirt, the narrow but deceptively strong shoulders beneath- “maybe you meant something else.” He offers, tilting his head with a little smug smile, but his eyes stay soft, glittering and warm and something like home. A command and a question rolled into one.

Something settles inside him and Jaebeom breathes out, then in again, and nods. Mark’s smile drags wider, eyes hardening, crystallising into something amused and a little bit cruel. He releases Jaebeom’s hair, instead cupping his jaw, thumb pressing to the seam of his lips. He parts them, just a little, not sure if that’s what he wants but wanting to please.

“I thought so,” he murmurs, pressing harder; Jaebeom’s jaw drops on cue and he pushes it inside, curling over his teeth and pressing down on his tongue, “I hope you can back this one up.” He smiles, sharp canines flashing, when Jaebeom instinctively tries to answer, to promise that he will, but can’t, the words garbled noises and saliva pooling in his mouth. He can’t swallow, not with Mark holding his tongue down. "Why don't you show me?" He lets go, wiping his thumb clean on Jaebeom’s cheek, the casual derision spearing hot through Jaebeom’s belly and making him squirm in his lap. Mark grins, leaning back and arching an eyebrow. “Get on with it then.” And Jaebeom scrambles to obey.

It's past dawn when Jaebeom wakes this time, but only just if the pink sky and the few holdouts of the screaming chorus are any clue. Mark is long gone, his side of the bed messy and cold. Shivering, drained from another night of bad dreams, Jaebeom gets up, washes and dresses on autopilot, then gathers his bag together and heads downstairs. 

Mark is, of course, in his workshop, a steaming mug of coffee next to his elbow as he picks apart a delivery drone. He lifts his head when Jaebeom enters, a soft smile on his tired face. Jaebeom returns it weakly, hoisting his bag higher onto his shoulder and shuffling over to him.

"Say hi to Jackson for me." He rasps in lieu of a greeting. Jaebeom nods and bends down to kiss him, combing his hair back off his forehead. 

"Try and get some more sleep." Jaebeom whispers, pecking his lips once more and stepping back. He nods sheepishly, stifling a yawn into his palm and waving a thin screwdriver after him when he walks away. 

His bike is where he left it, a thin layer of reddish dust coating the frame and staining the ground. Another storm, violent enough to force normal dust in through the barrier. There’s haze-dust piled at the edge of the barrier and streaking past in the wind, colours swirled together and swimming before Jaebeom’s eyes. He squeezes them shut, rubbing them with the heels of his hands, before swinging a leg over the bike and switching it on. He speeds away from Mark’s house, breathing out a sigh of relief as the incessant pressure, the odd soundless humming at the back of his head, eases the further he gets from the reality anchor.

They say you have to be mad to want to study the haze. Jackson, the only haze scientist Jaebeom knows, doesn’t usually obey this saying. But then Jaebeom will roll up to Jackson’s house - another one that borders the barrier, though Jackson’s reasons are less personal than Mark’s - to a sight like this; the aforementioned haze scientist, a man who has two,  _ two,  _ degrees, one of which is in  _ medicine _ ,  _ and _ a PhD, with his whole torso hanging out of an open third floor window, clinging onto the frame with one hand as the other nudges a radio receiver. Jaebeom gapes up at him, not daring to shout lest he startle him into falling, as he swings for a bit of leverage and pokes the aerial again, craning his neck to peer into the window and crowing in delight at- something.

Well, Jaebeom supposes vaguely as he watches Jackson slowly, awkwardly, clamber back into the window, people say dustrunners like him are mad too. Maybe they both are. 

When Jaebeom makes his way inside what used to be a university building - the university long having moved deeper into the city and dissolved into something more anarchic and isolated now communication between cities has slowed to the speed of courier bots and dustrunners - hopping over the long seized turnstile and jogging up the flights of stairs to the abandoned chemistry lab Jackson’s claimed as his own, he finds said man poring over sheets and sheets of notes, a tinny radio playing crackly turn-of-the-century music, one of the three radio stations maintained within the barrier. None from outside can get inside in any coherent form, nothing else similar either, the barriers scrambling any signal, any light besides some visible, in their effort to isolate baseline reality from twisting forces beyond the anchors. His head snaps up when Jaebeom knocks hesitantly against the door - it’s broken, propped against the wall with the top hinges fallen away from the wall - and he breaks into a blinding grin, whirling around and bouncing across the room to tackle him into a hug. 

“You’re back!” He exclaims, shrill and delighted right into Jaebeom’s ear. Steadying them against the doorframe, Jaebeom laughs and pats his back; the safety specs perched on soft brown hair jab into Jaebeom’s neck a bit and there’s a strong whiff of ethanol - the distilled solvent kind, not the kind that tends to cling to Jinyoung after a particularly rowdy night working the bar - to him, but Jaebeom doesn’t mind. It’s just nice to see him. “You left your mask here, dumbass, Jinyoung told me about your drop.” He says, halfway between reprimanding and worried; he leans back, grabbing Jaebeom’s face between his hands. Jaebeom just sighs, letting his head be tilted this way and that. Jackson’s lips push out in a worried little pout. 

“I’m fine,” Jaebeom mumbles, “don’t worry.” Jackson scoffs, leaning in so close their noses touch and Jaebeom goes cross-eyed trying to look at him.

“I always worry about you.” He says, firm and fond and exasperated all in one. Jaebeom opens his mouth to respond, but Jackson kisses him first, tugging him down with both thumbs gently stroking his cheeks. Jaebeom sighs, smiling sheepishly at him when he leans back with another pout.

“Mark said you’re close to a breakthrough?” He says, hoping to distract. Thankfully, he takes the bait, face lighting up with an excited smile, taking Jaebeom’s wrist to drag him into the lab. He grabs the specs from his head, pulling them down over his eyes and scooping up a second pair to shove them into Jaebeom’s hands. He manages to fumble them into place, squinting through the scratched lenses at the array of experiments set up in the fumehoods lining the back wall. The ones that still work have reactions running, condensers running and refluxes bubbling. Unlike what’s left of popular media would have one believe, it’s all very colourless, clear liquids and white powders, all except for the reaction to the far left. That one is a vivid pink, purple occasionally swirling through it as it stirs, a dropping funnel filled with a shimmering violet-yellow-grey solution slotted into one of the necks of the flask. Haze-dust in solution. It was a real bastard to get it in, it’s taken Jackson this long to figure out how to dissolve it and make it real enough to get past the anchors without negating all the properties he wants to study but still having it safe enough to handle inside the city. It took a  _ lot  _ of negotiating with the city council to get him permission for even this much at a time.

“I think I’ve found something to use in the sensor,” he chirps, bounding over to the pink reaction and tapping on the blast shield, “it changes colour with dust concentration, a bit like a pH scale." He slides the shield up a little and tugs on a pair of nitrile gloves - bright orange, the only colour Jaebeom could find on his last trip out of town to restock Jackson’s lab - then reaches inside for the stopcock on the funnel. He twists it, just enough for technicolour liquid to dribble out, one drop at a time. He slides the shield down again and bends closer, waving Jaebeom over eagerly and nudging his arm with his elbow when he hesitantly obeys. As they watch, as the drips hit the stirring surface, the solution gradually changes colour. Swirls at first, then the whole vial switches in a wave, from pink to purple to blue to deep opaque black once the dropping funnel is mostly empty. 

“I’ve been trying to-” Jaebeom jumps when Jackson suddenly speaks again; he bursts into laughter, leaning into Jaebeom’s side- “sorry, sorry,” he splutters, grabbing Jaebeom’s arm and clinging to him when he huffs, “I’ve been trying to get it smaller, but this is as good as I’ve got it so far.” He sighs, mirth draining to be replaced with frustration. Jaebeom wiggles his arm free to sling it over his shoulders, bundling him to his chest and perching his chin on the top of his head.

“You’ll get there. I’m proud of you Jacks, you’re doing amazing work.” He murmurs, smiling and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He squeaks and buries his face into Jaebeom’s chest, then there’s a snap of latex before both arms wind around his waist. 

"I've missed you, Beommie," Jackson sniffs, wriggling free to beam up at him and clasp his face between both hands; Jaebeom coughs and flushes and mumbles the same, a silly grin coming to his face, "come on, I have some real coffee around here somewhere, I'll make you some." 

Jackson makes very good coffee. Unfortunately, he's not very good at making anything else edible, so Jaebeom ends up taking over to make them something to eat. Nothing fancy, just some noodles in a spicy soup with some indeterminate dried vegetables thrown in, but considering the tasteless rations Jaebeom's been living on for the last little while, it's pretty good. Jackson seems to agree, if the speed with which he wolfs it down is any clue. 

"I take it Jinyoung's been around a lot then?" Jaebeom asks as he washes up, eyeing the stocked cupboards in the canteen kitchen Jackson claims as his. Jackson makes a disgruntled noise, chin planted on his palm. 

"I can take care of myself, you know." He mutters. Jaebeom sighs and sets the last plate onto the drier. 

"I know you can," he murmurs, drying off his hands and trudging over to Jackson's seat at the table, "but you don't." Jackson huffs, but he leans back, leaving Jaebeom space to lean against the table next to him. He pauses though, considering, weighing up benefits with embarrassment and, trying his best to squash down the latter, he pushes Jackson's chair further from the table and, ignoring his confused squawk, sits in his lap. Yes, he decides even as his face heats up, the benefits - sitting in Jackson's lap, having him grab his waist to steady him and look up at him with a growing wondering smile - definitely outweigh his shyness. "We worry about you, Jackson." He mumbles, trying for firm but not quite hitting it. Jackson deflates though, head dropping to bury his face in Jaebeom's chest. 

"I know," he breathes, "I'm sorry. I'll try to take better care of myself." Jaebeom smiles and cradles him close, pressing his cheek to the top of his head. 

"Okay." 

"You'll stay here tonight, right?" Jackson asks eagerly, the pair of them having migrated from the canteen up to the huge atrium Jackson insisted on being his bedroom. The entire far wall is glass, comfy chairs scattered around and an enormous bed that's really just several mattresses hauled up here and pushed and piled together lying below the windows. Jaebeom, curled up under Jackson's arm on the pile, nods, finding his hand and tangling their fingers together. 

"If you want me to." He murmurs. Jackson scoffs and sits up, manhandling Jaebeom onto his back and ignoring his whines of protest. 

"I always want you to," he says, unimpressed, climbing on top of him with knees planted either side of his hips and his hands braced beside his head, "I like having you here, we all do. You always have a home here with us, Jaebeom." He whispers, leaning in close to press a kiss to Jaebeom's forehead. Not expecting such a heartfelt declaration, Jaebeom swallows thickly and tries not to cry, eyes wide and prickling, but he doesn't think he's very successful because Jackson coos and cups his face even as he starts to tear up as well. "Don't cry, you can't cry or you'll make me cry." He whines, lips pushing into a wobbly pout. Jaebeom huffs a wet laugh and wraps both arms around his waist. 

"Sorry," he rasps. Jackson pouts more intensely, then leans down for a kiss. Jackson's kisses vary, sometimes soft and fleeting and fluttery like they are now, floaty teasing things that are never quite long enough. Little pecks, over and over again, spending more time apart and giggling than actually kissing. But then he'll switch it up, into something deep and heady, stealing all of Jaebeom's breath away with long stretches of sliding lips and teasing tongue and grazing teeth, hot and needy and drugging. Changeable, just enough to keep Jaebeom on the back foot without being too much; he just goes with the flow as best he can, trusting Jackson to guide him home. 

"I love you." Jackson whispers, so easily and genuinely it makes Jaebeom's whole body ache. He says it over and over, pressing it into Jaebeom's mouth and murmuring it into his skin countless times. Overwhelmed, Jaebeom's tears end up spilling over, but he manages to mumble:

"I love you too." Only once, cracked and barely audible, but Jackson hears him and kisses him again so tenderly and if Jaebeom feels something warm and wet drip onto his cheeks as he does so, that's just between them. 

"Knock knock." A familiar voice announces. Jaebeom stirs, having knocked out in Jackson's arms after an hour or so of tearful kissing, twisting away from the midday sunlight streaming through the glass and burying his face in Jackson's chest. 

"Hey," Jackson rasps, shifting and sitting up as much as he can without truly dislodging Jaebeom, "what's going on?" He asks. The mattress dips and a warm hand slips through Jaebeom's hair. There's the sound of a kiss, then Jinyoung speaks again. 

"City council is looking for you." He murmurs, tugging on Jaebeom's hair so he knows who he's talking to. Jaebeom groans unhappily and sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes and glowering at Jinyoung. He smiles wanly back, combing gentle fingers through Jaebeom's hair until it sits more sensibly on his head. 

"Already?" Jackson mumbles. Jinyoung nods, brows set into an unhappy frown. 

"Medicine run." Is all he says, but it's enough for Jackson to slump and Jaebeom's stomach to fill with lead. He sighs and picks himself up, offering Jackson a wobbly smile. 

"See you when I get back." He mumbles. Jackson, lips pressed into a hard line, stands up too and drags him into a hug, pressing a firm kiss to his cheek before letting go. 

"Be careful." He says. Not too long ago, Jaebeom would have said something flippant in response, like "I'm always careful". Nowadays though, he just smiles weakly and looks away. 

Jinyoung takes his hand as they leave, warm fingers tangling with Jaebeom's metal ones. 

"You're allowed to say no." He murmurs, like he does every time. Jaebeom's smile trembles and slides off his face. He could say no, but he won't. How can he when it'll be some dying child or terribly sick person who desperately needs help that's asking? 

Jinyoung, having caught a lift over with some people heading out the east of the city, rides on the back of Jaebeom's motorcycle back. He hugs him a little too tightly, cheek pressed to his back and hands fisting in his jacket. Jaebeom tries to concentrate on the road, but he can't help feeling guilty. He's not even been back for three days and he's already getting sent off again. Why do these three put up with him? With all the worrying, the sleepless nights he knows Jinyoung will have, the anxiety Mark will try and fail to pace off, the fear Jackson feels every time he looks out at the wastes, wondering if this is the one Jaebeom won't come back from? 

There's a black SUV outside Jinyoung's bar, spray painted with the logo of the city. Jaebeom rolls them to a stop and kicks down the stand, taking a second to stare out at the wastes, the razed bare strip of no man's land beyond the barrier, the rubble belt beyond that, all lit in an almost natural glow, just the faintest sheen of pink over the scene. Nothing moves, not even in a breeze. 

Jinyoung sighs and squeezes his waist, lifting his head to rest his chin on Jaebeom's shoulder. 

"We should go inside." He murmurs, but neither of them move. He's trembling, ever so slightly, clinging to Jaebeom like he's about to disappear. Throat thick, Jaebeom hugs his arms, leaning his head against Jinyoung's. 

"Let's go." He rasps, but makes no move either. Jinyoung sighs, a little puff of air caressing Jaebeom's neck, then presses a kiss to the same spot and releases him. He stands up, squeezes Jaebeom's shoulder, his hand trailing down his bicep before falling away completely as he heads for the door. Jaebeom takes a moment to choke down the ache in his throat and compose himself, then follows after him. 

The only people in the bar are the pair from the council, sat at a table with the light above it turned up as bright as it can get. Jaebeom knows them, they're his regular contacts. Youngjae smiles at him, but it's sad, heavy with regret. Jisoo doesn't smile, her expression stays grave, fingers drumming an anxious staccato on the bright red box in front of her. 

"Hi Jaebeom." Youngjae says, standing up as he approaches. Jaebeom smiles weakly and says nothing, sliding into the seat opposite them. Jinyoung goes behind the bar and picks up a glass, facing away and wiping at it mechanically with a dishcloth. 

"We need you to make a run." Jisoo says, briskly and without preamble. She slides the box over to him, the white decal of a cross chipped and faded on the top. "Out to Lakeview." She says, pausing for a moment. Jaebeom nods stiffly; it’s a town out to the south, shored up next to a series of lakes formed the last time the river burst its banks. A fairly small settlement, it only just got the reality anchors planted and working before reality broke around it. "We- need you to go to the organ labs." Another pause. Jaebeom nods again, goosebumps raising on his skin despite having been there so many times. It's a creepy place, full of petri dishes and test tubes and tanks filled with cells and fluids and growing body parts, everything from skin and hair to hearts and livers. "Need you to pick up some blood products and-" she stops outright, looking down and pressing suddenly wobbling lips together. Youngjae puts a hand on her shoulder, rubbing gently and picking up where she left off. 

"And a pair of lungs, for transplant." He says sadly. Jaebeom nods a third time, his heart aching; Jisoo's father has been struggling with cancer for a long time. “We know its late,” he looks down, guilt written on his face, “and we wouldn’t ask if- if it wasn’t urgent.” Clearly he's reaching a tipping point. Jaebeom sighs, placing a palm onto the organ box and sliding it towards himself. 

"Okay." He says simply. Jisoo looks up, eyes glistening with tears. 

"Thank you." She says, thick and quiet. Jaebeom nods and stands and offers her his left hand, taking hers and squeezing. 

"You're welcome." He whispers. She sniffs and the pair of them stand, Youngjae smiling grimly and clapping him on the shoulder. 

"I'll send you the full list of other packages to pick up while you’re there." He says. Jaebeom nods, his shoulders heavy as he watches them leave. There's a few moments of thick silence, then the SUV rumbles to life and, gravel crunching beneath its tires, they pull away. Jaebeom's phone dings once everything falls quiet again, a notification appearing from Youngjae. 

Jinyoung sets his glass down with a click, both hands bracing against the counter and his head hanging between his arms. Jaebeom swallows, tentatively approaching but not daring to speak. He sniffles, huffs a wet laugh, then lifts his head when Jaebeom stops across the counter from him, his eyes red-rimmed but dry. 

"Does it make me an awful person if I wish you didn't have to go?" He croaks. Jaebeom shakes his head, eyes prickling with tears of his own. He reaches over the counter, prying one of Jinyoung's hands up to hold onto it tightly. Jinyoung sniffs again, wipes his eyes on his wrist, then hops up onto the counter, swings his legs over and slides off the other side and plops into a stool. "It does make me selfish though, doesn't it?" He mumbles, a sad, self-loathing smile twisting his lips. Jaebeom steps forwards, pulling him into a hug and cradling him close. 

"It's an understandable kind of selfish." He mumbles, knowing Jinyoung prefers honesty over blind reassurance in things like this. Sure enough, he laughs again, hands clenching tight in the back of Jaebeom's coat. Something wet and warm starts to spread over his t-shirt, but Jaebeom doesn't say anything. 

"I'm not going to ask you to stay," he mumbles wetly, "but promise me you'll come back." Jaebeom squeezes his eyes shut, a couple of tears leaking out from beneath his lashes. He doesn't say anything, because he  _ can't _ and Jinyoung knows that better than almost anyone; he hugs Jaebeom tighter, shaking more than trembling now, choked off sobs muffled into his chest. 

"I love you." He manages to say instead. Jinyoung rears back, tears on his cheeks and fury and sadness and a fierce care mingling on his face. He grabs Jaebeom's face, palms hot against his cheeks and thumbs wiping tears from below his eyes. 

"I love you too," he says, tense and burning like he's expecting a fight, "and as much as I hate that you have to do this, remember that I am so proud of you for doing it too. We all are." He smiles, eyes crinkled and wet. Jaebeom sniffs and smiles back weakly. "Just- come back to us, okay?" His voice drops, hands tugging Jaebeom forward to kiss him softly. "We need you," he whispers against Jaebeom's lips, "so much more than you realise." Clutching at his waist with shaking hands, Jaebeom kisses him, again and again until they're both gasping for air. 

"I'll come back," he says, choked and trembling, "I'll do my best, I promise that." Jinyoung nods and kisses him again, deep and desperate, nails scratching at Jaebeom's scalp as his hands slide into his hair. Jaebeom's dizzy by the time he lets go, lightheaded with a tension headache starting to throb at the base of his skull. Jinyoung, still red eyed and blotchy, scrubs his face on his wrist and offers him a watery smile. 

"Stay safe, okay?" His voice breaks, lips wobbling, but he stands up, dusts down his jeans like nothing is wrong and walks Jaebeom outside. Jaebeom nods, wishing there was something he could say to make it better, but there's nothing; he clenches his metal fingers and strides to his bike, stowing the organ cooler into one of the compartments on the back and looking critically up at the sky. Well past noon. It's a three hour drive out to Lakeview, maybe an hour sorting things out there, then three hours back. He won't make it back before nightfall, but it's such a time sensitive run that he doesn’t have much choice. 

Jinyoung stands a few metres away, arms tightly folded, as Jaebeom swings a leg over the bike and knocks the kickstand back up. He smiles just as tightly when Jaebeom glances at him, black hair tinted violet by the haze filtering the sunlight. 

"See you soon, dustrunner." He murmurs, stepping back when Jaebeom lights the ignition. The bike purring below him, Jaebeom takes the mask from his belt, dragging it down over his face and tightening the straps around his head. It fits him perfectly, lenses slightly scratched but otherwise clean, the filter making each breath louder and raspier than usual, but it's a reassuring layer between him and the outside. He shakes his hair out, testing the edges pressed to his skin with metal and flesh fingers alike, then nods back at Jinyoung. 

"Back in a bit." He says, thick and distorted through the mask. Jinyoung inclines his head and Jaebeom looks away, out to the wastes and the bubbles of reality within it. He revs the bike and speeds out to the barrier. 


	2. And hold it together as we fall apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with more weird scifi!!! apologies for the wait, I've been extremely busy and also struggling mentally which made writing this particular chapter really very difficult, considering the content and on that note, be aware!! this contains a fair amount of horror, gore, injury detail and trauma and PTSD/related mental health issues relating to said trauma, namely flashbacks and panic attacks so please, read the tags and proceed with caution!!! 
> 
> the song for this chapter is [missio - sing to me](https://youtu.be/xu3rO7xtf0c) it's very good and again from the death stranding soundtrack, go check it out!!

No one ever named the thing that caused all this. No Event, no Incident, no Happening. It just--happened. No one knows why; some say secret experiments gone wrong, some say aliens, some say God. But all anyone really knows, is that it happened. One day, a lifetime and a half ago, reality came apart. Not all at once but slowly, piece by piece, spreading around the world like a cancer, consuming everything in its path. Long enough to build the reality anchors, to keep small portions of the planet stable. Long enough for those stranded outside to die and warp and drag their ruined corpses up to the barriers, screaming and wailing in a chorus that just won't end. Long enough for terror to set in, then fade. Long enough for it all to become the new normal. 

Jaebeom follows the barrier around to the south side of the city, dipping in and out with the remnants of roads and circling the anchors standing between reality and the rest of the world. There's a highway, or what’s left of one, heading due south from the city centre; it's torn up, cracked and potholed in places but utterly destroyed in others, huge chunks of concrete and tarmac jutting up 90 degrees from the road. He merges onto it, heading away from the city and weaving between a few trundling automated delivery trucks, eyeing the couple of drones heading back towards the barrier, laden with heavy cargo hanging from their undersides. 

Beyond the road, either side, the rubble belt stretches as far as the eye can see. The outskirts of the city, claimed by the new twisted flora and fauna of this new world; the plants are too big, clawing towards the sky with distorted fingers of gnarled grey stems and sickly yellow-brown-purple leaves, while the trees are too small, stunted brightly coloured things with garish flowers layered with dust. But there are no animals, no birds, no insects, not visible at least. If unthreatened, they wait until nightfall to emerge. 

Eventually the rubble belt dissolves, melting into scrubland grown up from fields and overgrown woods and jungles from isolated copses of trees. The road winds through remnants of villages, small towns, the buildings broken down and scattered by roots and branches and trunks. Road signs peek out from the undergrowth or stand lonely at the bare roadside, the letters scratched and worn and the metal warped, twisted, changed into something else. 

Every so often, every few miles or so, Jaebeom passes something truly disturbing. No rhyme or reason to it. One, just a few miles outside the city, a huge leafless tree in the middle of a barren field, its entire form shifting and writhing and breathing, made of flesh and blood with branches tipped with claws. Several, similar things; piles of broken bodies, animal and human and nameless thing stacked on top of each other, soft wails and groans emanating from them even in the middle of the day. In the ruined towns, there are odd twisted things of metal and plastic, maybe once cars or tractors, rolling around of their own volition and whistling. Jaebeom always speeds up when he sees things like these, swallowing down bile and praying nothing notices him as the situation demands. 

All the while, the sun beats down, filtering bluish through the haze-dust in the air. Even with the gentlest breeze, it swirls and eddies and flutters, hypnotising and beautiful and terrifying all at once. It’s hard to believe something so pretty could cause so much havoc, so much untold death and damage, the destruction of reality itself. Or maybe it's a byproduct, something made during the reality _restructuring_ as Jackson likes to theorise, either as a direct breakdown product or waste made by the entity that causes it. No one's really sure. It doesn't really matter; what matters is that it's dangerous and most people die from exposure to it. Hence Jaebeom and his whole raison d'etre, trekking out across miles of ruined landscape for the people who can't go themselves. 

It's nearing evening by the time Jaebeom spies Lakeview on the horizon. It's not a big settlement, a cluster or two of houses, the dock clinging precariously to the edge of the lake butting up against it, the sprawling facility of the organ labs. The barrier around it glimmers in the sunlight, the dark sheen tinted a deep red. The highway leads up to and through it, continuing past to wind between the glittering blue lakes and along the river that feeds them, so Jaebeom follows it up to the barrier. 

The difference between inside and out is stark; the wastes are eerily silent during the day, but Lakeview is noisy. Clanging of metal, rumbling engines, people shouting, the rushing and lapping of the water of the lake against the dock and the gentle chimes of rigging against masts, all mingling together into a welcoming cacophony of humanity. Fumbling his mask off with one hand and clipping it back onto his belt, Jaebeom slows down, veering away from the highway towards the organ farm. He passes a few people on the way, moving in and out of shacks built from crumbling bricks and corrugated iron, workshops and shelters and a few garages. Some of them nod; he's been here enough times to recognise a few of them himself. 

The organ farm is old, set up before reality came apart and maintained meticulously for decades after that. It's too important to let it fall to ruin, the only source of artificial blood and organs and tissues in a hundred mile radius and the only thing that can keep up with the demand for such things in a hostile world like this. As such, it's always busy, but there's a whole lab dedicated to supplies for the city, given that it's so big and so close. Jaebeom rolls his way around to that entrance, parking his bike and fishing the organ cooler out from its storage compartments. 

It's probably a little strange to be a regular at an organ farm, but here he is; his regular technician, Momo, is at the reception desk when he walks in, and she perks up when she spots him, a bright grin blossoming across her face. 

"The usual?" She asks, a little cheekily. Jaebeom grimaces, unable to meet her enthusiasm, and sets the cooler onto the table. 

"Not quite." He says. Her smile fades, expression turning sombre and understanding. She waits quietly while Jaebeom pulls out his phone, taps through to the list Youngjae forwarded to him and sets it on the counter, pushing it towards her. She bends towards it, lips pursed. 

"Ah," she says softly, lifting her head with a sad understanding in her eyes, "A rush order?" Jaebeom nods shortly. She presses her lips together and looks down again, placing a hand on top of the cooler and sliding it towards herself. "Please wait here, I'll be back with all of this soon." She picks it up and steps away, turning on her heel and hurrying through a staff only door. Jaebeom steps back from the desk, someone else quickly taking his place. 

There are some seats set up, threadbare faux suede, arranged around a few crates serving as tables. Jaebeom sinks gingerly into one. The cushions are long collapsed, so he ends up lying rather than sitting when he leans back. He doesn't try and lean back again. 

He waits. It takes a while, a good hour, an hour and a half maybe. It always does, especially for organ deliveries. Blood is easy, they just package up a set of bags and give it to Jaebeom in a box, but organs require special measures, detachment from the scaffolds they grow on and submersion in nutrient fluid, delicate handling and extra care. They need care during the journey too, Jaebeom has to avoid bumps and drive smoothly to avoid knocks and bruising or worse. 

Jaebeom isn’t very good at waiting. He taps his foot, paces occasionally, watches people bustle in and out and counts to one hundred in his head, over and over again. He pointedly doesn't look at any of the staff, not wanting them to think he's impatient with them, because he's not, he's just impatient in general. There's no blame assigned in his impatience, just a directionless frustration at the universe and a growing fear of being too late. Even so, a receptionist Jaebeom recognises, a young man with a sweet smile and an anxious set to his brow, darts over to mumble reassurances of his package nearly being ready and places a styrofoam cup of hot soy coffee on the table beside him. It's too bitter, almost undrinkable, but it's hot and he'll need the synthetic caffeine for the drive back. 

It's well into evening by the time Momo reappears. Jaebeom lurches to his feet and hurries across the foyer, bouncing on his heels as she smiles tightly and finishes sealing up the box of blood bags. The organ cooler sits beside it, daunting and final, bright yellow tape over the seams sealing the world out. Everything grown here in the lab is made to be resistant to haze-dust, able to withstand the ambient reality breakdown outside the barriers just like Jaebeom, but it’s not perfect. The seals will keep the dust out, but they’ll degrade the longer he’s outside. It’ll last long enough to get them back, but he doesn’t have a lot of spare time. Good thing he’s already in a hurry.

"Right," she says briskly, tossing her hair off her forehead and gingerly sliding the boxes over the counter, "you know the drill by now. Be-" she pauses, squints past Jaebeom, a grave look coming over her face- "it’s getting dark." She says sombrely. Jaebeom smiles, the kind of smile that hurts his cheeks because they really don't want to make one. 

"Thanks for your help, Momo." He says quietly, reaching for the boxes. Her gaze snaps back to him, hand shooting across the counter to grab Jaebeom's wrist. 

"Stay here. It's too late, you'll-" He shakes his head. 

"Can't. Rush order." He says simply. Her expression crumples, eyes dropping to the stained plastic countertop, but she lets go. 

"Be careful." She whispers. Jaebeom nods once, picks up the boxes ever so carefully and turns away. His smile slides off his face like water off plexiglass, a bone deep apprehension filling him to the brim. 

The sun hovers what seems like inches above the western horizon, a deep fiery red. Jaebeom checks, double checks, triple checks all of the boxes, strapped safely into the cargo containers on the back of his bike. He does up his coat, ties his hair back, tightens his gloves and straps his mask into place, thumbing at the seals and adjusting the filters. They'll need changing if he gets back. 

It's getting cold, windy, the blue-green-pink dust outside the barrier kicking up into the air. A storm, angry violet, skulks along the eastern skyline. Moving roughly parallel to the direction Jaebeom will be travelling. Judging by distance, it'll hit the city sometime tomorrow morning if the winds don't pick up. Hopefully they'll die down instead. 

Jaebeom lights the ignition, his bike purring beneath him. He stands, balancing, fumbling in a compartment between the handlebars; he finds a pair of earplugs and rolls them between his fingers, pushing them into place and holding them there until the world falls silent. He opens and closes his mouth, working his jaw against the slight uncomfortable pressure prickling in his ears, and puts the bike into gear, speeding towards the barrier again. 

It’s a delicate balance to strike, rush orders on cargo like this. On one hand, it’s fragile, needing a delicate hand and gentle driving, but on the other it’s a rush; there’s no point being careful with the organ cooler if he’s not going to make it back in time for its contents to be of use. So Jaebeom drives as fast as he can without skidding off the ruined road surface, trying to hit as few bumps and potholes as possible and hunkering down low on the bike. At least there’s some semblance of a road, not just bare terrain or debris like some other routes. 

The sun keeps setting, its weak light getting redder and redder. Jaebeom finds himself breathing hard, heart pounding, unable to stop glancing at it like his fervent hopes will make a difference to the movement of celestial bodies. With his earplugs in, he can’t hear anything, his bike vibrating soundlessly below him, but he’s been around long enough to know exactly what happens as the sun slowly disappears; things start moving, wailing even with the sun up this far away from any reality anchors. Animals, or what pass for them nowadays, begin to emerge, scuffling in fields and darting across the highway; strange four legged things that were once maybe deer, blobby furless things that could have been rabbits, jewel coloured insects with strange stingers and too many wings. Flying bird-like creatures with spindly too long legs and no eyes circle above, cawing and crying out things Jaebeom can’t hear now, but has heard so many times before. 

But it’s not the animals one needs to fear; they keep to themselves, eating each other or scavenging on carcasses and whatever strange fruits and leaves grow out here. No, it’s the things that used to be human that are the problem. 

The sun is more than halfway below the horizon now. It’s getting dark, the dust absorbing enough of the light to render it deeper into twilight than it should be. Jaebeom winces as he switches on his bike’s headlights, pressing himself lower to the chassis as though it’ll be enough to stop anything spotting him. The road before him is thrown into light, stained red by the filter over the bulb, another attempt to conceal his location with the added bonus of not ruining night vision, something he can’t afford to be without while he’s in the wastes in the dark. 

The sun dips below the horizon. Jaebeom swallows thickly, eyeing the passing scenery; still more than half an hour away if it were daylight. Maybe more like an hour now. 

The chorus begins when the last of the light fades from the horizon. Even with his earplugs in, Jaebeom feels it start; the screams are audible even from inside reality barriers, so out here they’re deafening, the cacophony vibrating through Jaebeom’s skull and ringing inside his head. Eyes watering inside his mask, Jaebeom grits his teeth and keeps driving, revving his bike faster and hoping his cargo won’t get too jostled. 

Shapes start moving, catching his scent or spotting the movement or hearing the hum of the engine as he races past. Moving this fast, most of the hulking silhouettes just emerge from the undergrowth, from ruined buildings, from makeshift shelter, to snarl and screech at him, not able to keep up, but one or two of them start running in long loping strides, scuttling on too many legs, propelling themselves forward with stubby, half-useless wings. Metal hand still vised on the handlebars, Jaebeom reaches for his belt and snaps one of his pistols free, the magnetic holster clicking shut behind it. He thumbs off the safety and sets it warming, bracing his hand against the other handlebar as it vibrates tightly against his palm. 

He flinches, swearing colourfully, at a sudden roar, so loud the twisted trees shudder, off colour leaves fluttering to the ground. Something big thunders onto the road, crashing through a half-collapsed house and sending rubble flying. Heart in his throat, Jaebeom daren’t look back at it, even as it starts to lumber after him; he aims blindly behind him, pulling the trigger once. He doesn’t hear the shrapnel bolt impact, but the thing screams so loudly Jaebeom’s ears pop, a bolt of pain stabbing through his head. He blinks hard, eyes watering freely and his pounding heart fit to burst, as he weaves between broken chunks of concrete. The road rumbles, the thing’s footsteps shaking the ground.

The city appears on the horizon, countless lights glittering dully through the translucent black dome surrounding it. It stands against the violet-navy sky, distant and beckoning, the ruined road a grey river leading up to it under the light of the rising moon. It seems too big, stained yellow-violet by the haze-dust in the air, bathing everything in an ominous, sickly glow.

Something runs out in front of him, leaping across the road and scuttling up one of the spires of concrete; Jaebeom swerves, swearing some more and risking a glance back over his shoulder. The huge thing, a lumbering mass of shapes bristling with spines, is still following, but there’s still distance between it and him. It roars again, splitting Jaebeom’s skull open; he aims backwards again, pulls the trigger and yells wordlessly himself when it screams and keeps coming. 

The city inches closer. Jaebeom’s panting like he’s running, squeezing the handlebar of the bike so tight his metal knuckles ache; the thing just keeps coming and it’s starting to close the distance, close enough for Jaebeom to make out details he wishes he couldn’t see. It’s a mass of melted, congealed flesh and the spines aren’t spines at all, but reaching arms, some stripped bare to the bone and others snapped and broken, all of them twitching and grasping out towards him. Another shot backwards and it roars, staggering when Jaebeom looks, the bursting rounds tearing a ragged hole in one of its stumpy legs but it just keeps coming even as it bleeds, thick blood glistening violet-black in the distorted moonlight.

He’s so close now, the barrier shimmering before him as he crosses into the rubble belt. The things don’t like it here, they don’t like being so close to the anchors; they tear them apart, breaking them down at a molecular level to fit them back into baseline reality and that _hurts._ They aren’t slowing though, not while they smell prey; Jaebeom revs and speeds up, bouncing over smaller potholes in favour of speed, lungs and blood bags be damned. What use is having pristine cargo if it’s lost outside the barrier?

Another roar. Jaebeom shoots again, misses completely and screams back at it, wordless fury and terror tearing feral from his chest.

The rubble belt gets sparser, no man’s land stretching between him and the barrier. He lowers his pistol, bringing it back to his hip and letting it snap back into the holster in favour of hunkering low and just driving. 

The smaller things start to peel off, screeching their dismay, but the big one doesn’t slow, barely twenty metres behind him now. Jaebeom grits his teeth, jaw clenched tight and aching, breath coming in tight pants, his head pounding with every scream and roar.

Then a moment of silence; Jaebeom braces, knuckles white on the handlebars. The barrier stretches ahead, so close to safety.

Something whips past the back of his neck, a gust of air, the ghost of a huge clawed hand. Jaebeom’s heart stops when it snags, catching on his coat at the collar; it drags him upright and almost off the bike, but the worn false leather gives way and tears down the middle, fabric flapping behind him with the speed of his passing.

He barrels through the barrier. Another deafening, furious roar splits the night and Jaebeom finally lets out a breath that feels like a sob, dragging in another as he steers down the highway, heading for the twinkling lights of the city centre.

He feels strange as he pulls up to the hospital. Still thrumming with adrenaline as he hands over the cargo, he feels confused, dazed, barely able to process what just happened, let alone what’s still happening. Jisoo and Youngjae, both anxious and stressed, meet him at the entrance, both of them thanking him and pushing a book of trade stamps into his hands; for a good few minutes, he wonders if that thing really did deafen him, because he can’t hear a word they’re saying, then he thinks it’s just because the screams are still ringing in his head, blocking out every other sound. Only when they’re gone, when he reaches up to touch his ear gingerly does he remember he’s wearing earplugs. He works them out, wincing at the sudden onset of hospital noise - there are more people in the emergency department than usual - and blinking sluggishly at the sight of blood staining the cream foam red. He turns around, pocketing the stamp book and dropping the earplugs in a bin.

He heads back to his bike, parked outside on the broken pavement. People bustle in and out, lots of them worried or crying or nervous. Jaebeom just--sits on it for a while, watching them move in a never-ending stream, dimly wondering what’s going on with them all and trying to figure out what to do now. His head feels stuffy, brain fizzing and stuffed with cotton wool and his right hand aches, itches terribly, but scratching doesn’t help. Vaguely, he knows he needs to leave, to go find Jinyoung and Jackson and Mark and let them know he’s back and that he’s alright, but his body won’t move and he’s not entirely sure that he _is_ alright. 

But it doesn’t seem like he needs to move; someone cries out his name, loud enough to pierce through the fog in his head and the muffled feeling pulled over his ears. He looks up from his shaking hands wrapped loosely around the handlebars to see Jinyoung leaping out of a braking truck and sprinting towards him. 

“Are you- Fuck, Jaebeom, are you okay?” He demands as he skids to an unsteady stop on the broken concrete, worry tight on his face. Jaebeom peers at him; he looks odd, a little blurred, a little fuzzy around the edges, like there’s a screen in front of him. “Jaebeom?” He repeats, wavering a little, reaching out to gently clasp his shoulders.

“What?” Jaebeom asks, or thinks he asks. He can’t tell how loud he’s speaking, maybe he just mouthed it. Jinyoung’s brow pinches and he lifts his hands, ever so carefully reaching for the back of Jaebeom’s head. Jaebeom just stares at him, not sure what he’s doing, until a pressure lifts and Jinyoung pulls the mask Jaebeom forgot he was wearing from his face. The air is cold against his cheeks, eyes watering and squinting against it, but Jinyoung’s hands are warm when he sets the mask aside and cups his jaw delicately, like he’ll break if he handles him too roughly.

“Are you okay?” He asks again softly. Jaebeom stares at him; he’s still fuzzy, still blurred even without the scratched lenses in front of his eyes. “I heard- we all heard the chorus, it got so loud, I thought-” He stops, a profoundly distressed expression passing across his face. Jaebeom reaches for his wrists, taking them with trembling hands and tugging them down. His right still prickles with pins and needles, shooting up and down his fingers, the seam at his wrist aching and raw.

“I’m okay.” He hears himself say as though from a distance, like he’s removed from his own body and watching from afar. Jinyoung’s lips turn down at the corners, his eyes wide and glistening. He doesn’t look convinced.

“Jackson and Mark are here,” he says after a long moment’s pause, twisting his wrists in Jaebeom’s slack grip to take both his hands, “I called them when I heard the chorus quiet down, Jackson picked us up.” As though summoned by their names, Mark and Jackson appear, jogging up behind Jinyoung and stumbling to a stop on some loose gravel in Jackson’s case. They look worried. Jaebeom feels distantly guilty for making them worry, but in the majority he doesn’t really feel anything. The adrenaline has finally crashed out of him, leaving him lightheaded and abruptly exhausted.

“Hey,” Jackson says, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jinyoung and anxiously looking Jaebeom up and down, “what the hell happened out there? We all heard the sc- the chorus, was that because of you?” His eyes are huge and scared. Jaebeom nods slowly and he blanches, swallowing thickly and reaching forwards to cover one of his and Jinyoung’s hands. Mark stays silent, his eyes burning a hole into Jaebeom’s head.

“I’m tired.” He says, because he is and he doesn’t know what else to say. Odd expressions flit over all of their faces, too fast and too complicated for Jaebeom to pick apart, but Jinyoung forces a smile and Jackson nods quickly.

“Of course, come on, we’re all staying at mine, Jinyoung’ll drive your bike over.” He babbles, grabbing Jaebeom’s wrist and tugging. He follows, simply because he can’t make his body stop or find the words to protest until he’s halfway to Jackson’s dented black pick-up truck.

“I can drive.” He mumbles, but Jackson just frowns at him and Mark comes up beside him, taking his other hand and shaking his head.

“Let’s just get you home.” He says, voice thick with--something. Jaebeom relents because he can’t quite remember why he was arguing in the first place, letting Jackson and Mark push him gently into the passenger seat in the front, Jackson hopping up into the driver’s seat and Mark settling into the truck bed behind them. Jinyoung rolls up beside them on Jaebeom’s bike, the lights from the hospital and the few streetlights that still work glowing on his skin and shining off his hair in a streaky halo. The truck coughs to life and they start to move, Jackson shooting him anxious glances every few seconds. Jaebeom ignores him, rolling down the window and leaning back in the threadbare seat, closing his eyes as the cool night air washes over him.

He must fall asleep, because the next thing he’s aware of is Jackson gently shaking him awake, the old university looming dark behind him. The only light comes from the stained moon and the red light spilling from the front of Jaebeom’s bike, Jinyoung still sat astride it watching them clamber from the car. Jaebeom still feels strange, his body going through the motions but his mind far away. He feels an overwhelming sense of weight, of foreboding, pressing on his mind from every direction, but he doesn’t know what it is or what it’s trying to say.

He wasn’t lying when he said he was tired though; he trudges inside behind Mark, Jackson hovering beside him and steadying him every time he stumbles, which is quite often. He zones in and out, floppy and yielding when Jinyoung pulls his ruined coat off then wrestles off his boots and trousers, when Mark settles him into the pile of cushions on Jackson’s mattresses and covers him with a thick blanket, when Jackson perches next to him and starts stroking his hair. He doesn’t think about anything, about the anxious whispers and looks they keep sharing, about the furious screaming still ringing outside the barrier, about that horrible crushing weight filling him up whenever he acknowledges it or about the nagging, itching, burning feeling in his right hand. No, he shuts his eyes and thinks about Jackson’s warm fingers in his hair and lets himself fall asleep again.

_Jaebeom runs. Runs so fast it hurts, lungs burning and muscles screaming almost as loud as the things behind him. The barrier shimmers translucent black before him, the city beyond twinkling with lights, blocking out the violet-blurred sky ahead. The ruined rocky no man’s land stretches mockingly ahead of him, between him and safety. He never seems to move forwards; he feels heavy, like he’s forcing his way through molasses instead of air and there’s breath on the back of his neck and claws in his coat, tearing through it, trying to drag him down. The screams start laughing and agony, hot and white and blinding, stabs into his right hand, piercing straight through his palm and Jaebeom daren’t look, daren’t stop running even though it’s pointless, stuck in place and fighting something that can’t be fought because now the barrier’s turned opaque, there’s no point, he’s stuck outside, he’s not_ real _anymore-_

Jaebeom jolts awake, blind instinctual panic slamming into him and phantom agony tearing up his right arm. There’s something touching him, holding his waist and pinning him down and he has to get it _off;_ he scrambles away, kicking out when the thing’s grip tightens and falling heavily to the floor when it reels back with a hiss. His arm burns, hand numb and cold and it’s dark and blurry and something’s panting, making broken noises with every rushed exhale. He can’t see, not really, not in the darkness; he tries to stand up anyway but his legs shake too much, head spinning. He collapses again, hits the ground hard, curls up, cradling his hand to his chest; he can’t feel it, can barely move it, what does he _do-_

“Jaebeom!” His name. Someone said his name. But then-

A light switches on, blinding and off-white. Jaebeom squints, barely daring to lift his head, but when he does, a face swims in front of his eyes. A real face, one he recognises, though it’s twisted into something anxious, something scared; Jackson. Jaebeom blinks, trying to clear his sight and something hot rolls down his face. Something more. His face is wet, soaked with tears and the pants, the noises like a trapped animal, are coming from himself. The realisation comes to him distantly, like it’s happening to someone else, like there’s nothing he can do about it. 

“Jaebeom-” Jackson says again, tinny and faraway; his face twists, crumpling into something miserable and apologetic when he reaches out and Jaebeom flinches away. He doesn’t do it deliberately, he doesn’t even _want_ to, but in his head is that _dream,_ because it wasn’t a dream, not really, and all Jaebeom can think about, a video stuck on repeat in his mind, full screen and turned up way too loud, is running from those screaming things outside, _their cold fingers on his neck and sharp teeth in his hand and pure cold-burning agony ripping him apart_. He makes a noise, a strange, tearing, terrified sound dragged from somewhere deep in his chest, as he curls back up, hiding his face and forcing his numb fingers into a fist.

Except they’re _not_ his fingers. Not really, not anymore. No matter that he can feel them again, that he can touch Mark’s arm or Jackson’s shoulder or Jinyoung’s hand and feel their skin underneath, no, that’s a hollow victory. It doesn’t matter if they’ve replaced his hand, not now that every time he reaches the barrier there’s a question of whether he can pass through it, whether he’s real enough for reality, _hammering on the shell of it, opaque and unyielding, trying not to scream along with the things lost behind him, his whole body in agony as it’s stretched thin, torn apart atom by atom by the reality anchor standing cold and cruel beside him, the wound in his hand dripping red and stained a sick violet-yellow._

Jackson’s self control breaks when Jaebeom starts to sob. He almost hears it, can distantly feel the shift in the atmosphere; half of him is grateful when trembling hands grab him and pull him into much surer arms, desperate for reassurance that he’s not alone, but the other half of him wants to scream, fight, get away and run and hide. Dimly, he registers Jackson speaking, loud at first then quiet, lips pressed to Jaebeom’s head, but he can’t hear the words over a roaring rush of white noise, the pounding of his pulse drowning out everything else. 

He’s breathing too hard, too quickly. He can feel himself passing out, wrestling with consciousness that feels slippery and half intangible, colours he shouldn’t be able to see swimming behind his eyelids. _He can’t get in, the barrier won’t let him, the wound won’t let him, he’s_ stuck _, able to force his left hand through but nothing else can make it,_ he’s not real enough, it’s happening again-

“-beom, come on, just try and breathe with me okay-” Jackson’s voice, finally arranging into words in Jaebeom’s brain but can’t he see that he _can’t,_ he can’t breathe, he _can’t give up, he can’t, he doesn’t want to die out here, not like this so things be damned, he starts to shout, scream, cry, anything, but_ his voice won’t work, he can’t get enough breath to say anything. “Come on, stay with me, Mark’s coming, Jinyoung too, just-” _They are, they hear him; Jackson grabs his hand and Jinyoung skids out beside him, cocking a shotgun with a gas mask on, the lenses reflecting burnt orange back at him, Mark too, no mask except his expression, grim and sorry and blurred by the tears in Jaebeom’s eyes-_ “Jaebeom-” _Jackson, still in the barrier, holding his hand and hauling him half a step inside, tears rolling down his face when Jaebeom screams because_ it hurts so badly, like he’s being torn in half _“don’t look,” rasps Jackson but Jaebeom doesn’t listen, he can’t look away because Mark’s grabbing his wounded hand and ripping open his ruined sleeve to bare his arm and the veins of yellow-pink-grey leach higher up his wrist even as he watches-_ “Jaebeom!” _and he rips a knife from a plastic packet, laser sharp and surgically clean-_

_Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look this time-_

_The blade flashes._

Jaebeom blacks out.

_Waking comes in pieces. Fragments, non-chronological. There’s the roar of an engine, not his bike, larger than that. A truck. He’s lying down, flat on his back with his head propped up and pounding with every bump in the ruined road._

_Blood on cracked pavement, so much of it shining black in the off-colour moonlight. Something lying in it, a lump of red and black and pink-violet-yellow. It’s twitching._

_Something’s missing. Something’s not right. He tries to figure out what, but he’s thinking through fog, through honey-thick nothing filling his head. Someone’s crying, muted sniffles, like they’re trying to be quiet._

_The engine switches off, blissful silence for seconds that stretch into hours._

_Pain, blinding, burning, but hot now, not creeping ice but fire licking up his arm. He tries to pull away from it, take his hand out of the flames but he can’t, he’s held still and moving even a millimetre just tears him further in half._

_There’s a bright light above him, white and blinding. It smells sharp and clean, clinical. Latex snaps and machines beep and someone’s still crying._

_Something’s still missing. So very wrong._

_There’s blood pooling, pouring onto split concrete and he wants to look away more than anything, but he can’t, gaze fixed in abject horror. Something grates, hard against hard. He thinks he screams again._

_Someone’s crying. Still crying. He can’t tell who. It might be him._

Jaebeom wakes up on a bed. Curled up, lying on his side, covers drawn up around him. His head pounds, the whole right side of his body aching, arm prickling, hand numb, but he feels less foggy, more alert, aware of his surroundings. Slowly, painfully, he unfurls, rolling onto his back. There’s no one else in the room, a different one to the big atrium Jackson sleeps in. Fear clogging the back of his throat, Jaebeom grips the cover with his left hand, staring at the ceiling, needing to check but barely daring to move. 

He remembers the last time he was here, or somewhere like this, the time it really mattered. Waking in a clinical white room, drugged and sluggish, unable to understand where he was, what was wrong, what was missing, until he’d fumbled the covers away and looked. His arm, strapped down to keep him still, hand gone, halfway up his wrist, a mess of bandages and integrating wires, preparations for the prosthetic. He’d screamed. Fainted dead away. Woken up again seconds later and vomited over the side of the bed. 

He shoves the covers back and lifts his arm. His hand is there this time, or the metal version at least. Of course it is. He knew it would be, but it’s hard to remember at times like these.

He’d been doing better, Jaebeom thinks numbly, with a mirthless little laugh, he hadn’t crashed like that in weeks. Months even. Two steps forward, one step back.

Gingerly, he sits up, holding his aching head between his hands until the wave of dizziness passes, then carefully gets to his feet. His whole body hurts, exhausted despite having just woken up and shivering in his thin t-shirt and boxers. There’s a dressing gown draped over a hook on the back of the door; he grabs it, shoves his arms through the soft sleeves and cuddles it close, folding his arms and trudging from the room. 

Jaebeom finds all three of them in the little kitchen just off of Jackson’s main bedroom, something that must have once been for making tea and coffee during the day-to-day bustle of the university. It’s used for pretty much the same thing now. Jinyoung’s pacing up and down the length of it, Jackson’s sat at the little four person table set up at the side and Mark’s stood rigid against the counter, arms tightly folded and fists balled underneath them. They had been talking as Jaebeom approached, but his ears are still sore, everything a little muffled, so he didn’t hear exactly what; they fall silent when he enters though, so he’d guess it was probably about him. They all gape for a long few seconds, different expressions passing over their faces; Jackson’s purely worried, Jinyoung’s angry and sad and anxious all in one and Mark looks halfway broken, guilt and regret and hurt weighing heavy on his shoulders.

“Hi.” Jaebeom rasps. His voice is shot, but he can tell how loud he’s being now. It seems to kickstart them all back into motion; Jinyoung and Jackson both stumble forwards, Jinyoung bundling him into a hug and Jackson throwing his arms around them both, both of them babbling and asking a hundred questions one after another. Mark hangs back, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Jaebeom, his head cradled against Jinyoung’s chest, smiles weakly at him.

“How are you feeling?” Mark murmurs, almost too quiet for Jaebeom to catch. Jaebeom shrugs, weakly fighting against the pair hugging him but giving up easily when they scoff and tell him off; he lets them drag him out of the kitchen and push him onto one of the mattresses, Jinyoung plopping down next to him and keeping a tight hold so he doesn’t try and get up again. Jackson darts back into the kitchen as Mark slips past him, the rumble of a recently boiled kettle starting up from inside. 

“I’m alright, considering.” Jaebeom mumbles to Mark, who nods gravely and perches down on his other side, just out of reach. Jaebeom shuffles closer though, ignoring Jinyoung’s squawk and reaching for Mark’s hand. He lets him take it, but doesn’t look up. 

None of them ask what happened. They don’t need to, they all know full well the reasons behind Jaebeom’s panic attacks, they’re all haunted by the same thing too. Jaebeom’s reaction is obvious - he’s the one that almost died, that lost a hand, that was almost broken down like everything else that strays for too long in the wastes - but it gets to them all in different ways. Jackson, always overprotective, now spends his whole time worrying unless he has all three of them in line of sight and even then he’ll spend half of it worrying. Jinyoung, his notoriously icy temper taking a turn for the worse, channelling it towards the city council to try and implement more safeguards, asking for more protections that just aren’t there and even if it were possible to make this world safer, there just aren’t the resources. Mark, his already sparse sleep schedule summarily ruined, wracked with guilt for doing what had to be done. Jaebeom tries to make it easier for him because he truly, genuinely saved Jaebeom’s life that day - what is a metal hand compared to dissolving along with reality? - but there’s enough inherent trauma in doing what he did, enough horror in cutting through flesh and bone of a living, breathing, screaming human being, let alone doing it to a loved one.

Jackson returns with a steaming mug of tea. Jaebeom doesn’t let go of Mark’s hand, wriggling his other free from between him and Jinyoung to take it from him. His brow furrowed over wide liquid eyes, Jackson offers him a little smile. Jaebeom returns it shakily, closing his eyes when Jackson grabs his face and bends down to press a kiss to his forehead. Then he lets go and circles around them and plops onto the mattress behind Jaebeom, his temple falling against his back and a heavy sigh rushing from his chest. Jinyoung copies him, resting his head on Jaebeom’s shoulder and squeezing his hand. Mark does nothing, staring at the floor with a distant, haunted look in his eyes. Jaebeom sips his tea, sweet and floral and soothing, and wishes he knew how to make things better again.

Jaebeom, despite his best efforts, falls asleep again once he’s finished his tea, rearranged on the mattress pile such that he remains in contact with all three of the others. This time, he doesn’t dream, or he doesn’t remember any at least. A small comfort considering he still wakes up in a cold sweat, just this time for a reason he can’t remember. He wakes up alone again, the sheets cold beside him. 

It’s dark now, distant overlapping screams echoing from the wastes. Jaebeom sits up, slowly, gingerly. His head aches, body not much better, and it’s freezing cold in here, so much so he’s shivering hard enough his teeth chatter together. The blankets Mark had draped over him are bunched at the foot of the mattress; he grabs them, bundling himself up in them and hunching over miserably, staring out of the huge windows out over the violet-tinted rubble belt. 

“Hey-” a soft, sleep-hoarse voice murmurs suddenly; Jaebeom jolts, heart slamming into his rib cage in alarm as the lump Jaebeom hadn’t noticed on the other side of the mattress pile shifts and sits up- “sorry, sorry-” Jinyoung mumbles, wrestling himself upright and rubbing at his eyes with an overlong sleeve- “you okay?” He shoves his blankets away and scoots closer. The ruined moonlight plays oddly across his face, cutting strange lines and highlighting odd angles, like the very light itself isn’t quite the right side of reality. Jaebeom nods, wrapping his arms loosely around his knees and resting his chin on them.

“Where are the others?” He rasps, sleep-hoarse. Jinyoung’s eyebrows pull together.

“Mark’s gone to get something to work on. Probably started working and forgot to come back,” he sighs, long-suffering and Jaebeom’s lips twitch despite the melancholy weighing him down; sounds like Mark, “and Jackson’s- tidying his lab, I think. He- wanted to be alone for a bit.” Jaebeom nods again, chin dipping a little lower. His eyelids droop with it, but he daren’t close them for fear of what he might see behind them.

He jumps again, sluggish and delayed, at a touch to his cheek; he looks up dumbly as gentle fingertips wipe under his eyes, Jinyoung’s expression a tight anxious frown. It’s then that Jaebeom realises his cheeks are wet. He swallows thickly, painfully unfolding himself and leaning away, fists twisting in the fabric pooling in his lap. 

“Talk to me.” Jinyoung whispers, ragged and pleading. Jaebeom stares down at his hands, white-knuckled and shaking and blurry.

“It’s nothing.” He mumbles. Jinyoung’s breath huffs out and his fingers curl under Jaebeom’s chin, gently coaxing it back up until he’s glaring him in the eye. 

“Jaebeom.” He says flatly. Jaebeom swallows with a click and looks away, fresh tears spilling hot down his cheeks. “Please.” His voice cracks. Jaebeom squeezes his eyes shut and blows out a breath.

“I-” His throat aches, head pounding with his thudding heart. Jinyoung’s hand finds his knees, squeezing reassuringly. “It- just-” He stops again, jaw snapping shut, the words sticking in his throat and refusing to come out. His chest feels tight, breathing a real effort and speaking even more so, all of his clamouring emotions a heavy iron band across his ribs.

“Take your time.” Jinyoung says softly, thumb rubbing little circles onto his knee. Jaebeom tries to focus on that, trying to time his breaths with the movement. Realising what he’s doing, Jinyoung gradually slows down, until his ragged pants have calmed into something approximately normal. He hangs his head, listening for the soft little pats of his tears dripping onto the blankets. Jinyoung stays quiet, a warm, reassuring, gently encouraging presence. 

“It’s just- so _stupid-”_ Jaebeom mumbles weakly once he’s together enough to speak around the lump in his throat, scrubbing his eyes on his arm- “I’m _fine,_ I should be fine, it’s been _months_ but I’m still- still stuck panicking at the stupidest things, it’s _pathetic-_ ” He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, hard enough he sees coloured spots behind his eyelids, just for something to focus on besides the emptiness yawning in his chest.

“No,” Jinyoung chokes out, shaking hands grabbing Jaebeom’s and pulling them down, away from his face, “no, you- Jaebeom. It’s not- _You_ are not pathetic. You’re _not,_ at _all._ And this- that was not a stupid thing, Jaebeom you-” he grasps Jaebeom’s face, holding him still when he scoffs miserably and tries to shake his head- “Jaebeom, _listen_ to me-” he demands, shaking and desperate with his brows furrowed over glossy eyes- “you are the furthest thing from pathetic.” He says, thick but firm. Jaebeom bites his tongue hard enough he tastes iron, locking his jaw and pressing his lips together so they don’t tremble. “You- what you went through, what you’re still going through, it- it’s more than any one person should have to bear. But you keep going back out there, because people need you to.” He pauses, struggling to swallow, crying outright now. Jaebeom’s chest heaves; he holds his breath, trying to choke down the sobs threatening to spill out of him. “You are one of the bravest people I know, Jaebeom. I need you to know that.” He says thickly, a tremulous smile on his face. Jaebeom squeezes his eyes shut.

“I don’t feel very brave.” He mumbles weakly, hushed like a confession. Jinyoung laughs, barely a breath pushed behind it. His hands get impossibly gentler, thumbs wiping at the fresh tears spilling from Jaebeom’s eyes. 

“I know,” he whispers, “but sometimes- sometimes just surviving is the bravest thing you can do.” He smiles tremulously when Jaebeom opens his eyes. “Just- stay with us. Don’t stop trying. You’ll get through this, we all will, even if it doesn’t always feel like it. We’re with you, always.” Jaebeom sniffs, reaching up to take Jinyoung’s hands and just hold onto them. He squeezes back, watery smile pulling a little wider.

“Okay.” Jaebeom says thickly and they fall into silence, the distant chorus outside the only sound cutting the air. After all, what else is there to say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So,,,, pretty heavy stuff huh :') like I said earlier, this was a really hard chapter for me to finish because it hits pretty close to home with regards to my own trauma and processing of that, so a lot of the mental health issues I write about here are pretty close to the sort of thing I go through and I'm trying to write some of it out in order to work through it but anyway!!! I hope u enjoyed this despite the emotions involved :') let me know what you think!!! either down below in the comments or on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/)!!


	3. Maybe together we can make a mark in the stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey friends I am so sorry about the wait,,,,, I just. have really been struggling both to write this and in general and i'm sure u can understand why writing about the apocalypse is ,,, challenging atm ,,, but yeah, enjoy this flashback chapter!! it's pretty heavy!!! and kind of gory!!! take care of yourselves!!! and enjoy this song [chvrches - miracle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e1YqueG2gtQ) it's very good!!!

_ It’s nearly dusk when Jinyoung hears the familiar metallic hum of a fuel cell engine, moving closer outside the bar. The chorus hasn’t started yet, but it’s due soon. Jinyoung sets down the glass he’d been mechanically drying, the dull anxiety that’s been nagging at the back of his head all day finally settling down.  _

_ The engine switches off, then boots crunch on broken concrete and gravel, familiar footsteps moving closer. Jinyoung leans against the bar, unable to help the silly smile that spreads across his face. The couple at the bar eye him curiously, but he ignores them, staring at the door as it's pushed open. _

_ “Well, look who made it in time.” He says brightly. Jaebeom scoffs and shoves a bare hand through his hair, his gloves stuffed haphazardly into his coat pockets. He’s filthy, streaked with reddish dirt and the technicolour remains of haze-dust turning his hair into a smudged rainbow, but he's smiling, that soft glowing one he reserves just for the three of them.  _

_ "I'm always on time." He says, quietly confident. Jinyoung snorts, but doesn't say anything. His smile gets bigger, flashing white teeth and curving his eyes into sweet little crescents, and he moves up to the bar, perching on a stool furthest from the other couple.  _

_ "You're lucky you're cute." Is all Jinyoung says, grabbing a couple of chipped pint glasses and starting to fill them with table 5's order. Jaebeom coughs a laugh and ducks his head, his cheeks flushing under the layer of dirt and dust. It lingers, skin still stained pink by the time Jinyoung's poured them out and taken them over; he's always been quick to blush and slow to recover from it. One of the many sweet little things about Jaebeom that Jinyoung fell in love with.  _

_ "How are the others?" He mumbles, flustered but still so genuine. Jinyoung leans against the bar across from him and twists his lips into a grimace.  _

_ "Jackson's fine," he says slowly, "he's got a lot on at the moment though, some news from outside." Something exciting, some new breakthrough in the field of haze study. Jaebeom looks up, eyes tight at the corners, hearing what Jinyoung doesn't say.  _

_ "Is Mark-" He starts, but he doesn't have to finish; Jinyoung nods, both of them well aware of the struggles Mark faces within his own head. Jaebeom's lips press together, turning down at the corners. He scratches his right hand, the skin on his knuckles dry and cracked.  _

_ "You should go over," Jinyoung says softly, "see if he wants company. He'll be glad to see you." He says it with a touch of melancholy, of wistfulness; the wastes, the haze-dust, the breakdown of reality affects all of them, just like it does everyone else, but Mark and Jaebeom share something different, something only the two of them understand. Even Jackson with all his research doesn’t get it and Jinyoung’s just a bartender that’s never even thought about leaving the city, but Mark and Jaebeom are both immune to the dust, both of them have left, both of them know what it’s like outside. And no matter how immune they are, no one who goes out into the ruined wastes that lie beyond the reality anchors comes back the same person they were before they went. _

_ “I will.” Jaebeom murmurs, gaze sliding down to rest heavily on the false granite bar counter. Jinyoung sighs, sets his jaw, picking up a clean dishcloth and reaching across to lift his chin back up, hand spanning his jaw to keep his head up and still. His eyes widen, that blush, almost faded now, returning in pink splotches high on his cheekbones, as Jinyoung carefully, tenderly, sets about wiping the dust from his face. _

_ “How was the run?” He asks, voice dropping into a whisper, conspiratorial and private. He feels Jaebeom’s jaw clench under his hand, eyes darting away shiftily and his lips paling as they press together. Jinyoung says nothing else, wishing he hadn’t said anything at all, his heart battering against his ribcage as he gently scrubs at his cheeks.  _

_ “It was hard,” Jaebeom eventually says, “everything was so- active. Even in the day.” Jinyoung hums, frowning without meaning to. Breath puffing out in a sigh, Jaebeom closes his eyes. He’s tired, deeply so, his eyes ringed with bruised shadows and his skin pallid beneath his fading flush. “But I’ve got another run to make tomorrow.” He whispers, soft and defeated. Jinyoung’s frown pinches and he sets the cloth aside in favour of carefully wiping at the dust clinging around Jaebeom’s eyes. He keeps still, trusting, even as his bottom eyelashes brush Jinyoung’s thumb.  _

_ “Do you have to?” Jinyoung asks. Jaebeom takes a deep breath and blows it out through his mouth, lips twitching up into a wry little smile. _

_ “It’s antibiotics, out to some of the homesteaders.” Is all he says, but that’s enough. Jinyoung nods, even though Jaebeom’s eyes stay shut. _

_ “Alright then.” He says, then leans forwards to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Go and see the others before you leave.” Jaebeom nods when Jinyoung pulls back, eyes blinking open to curve almost shut with his smile. Jinyoung’s called over by a patron before he can reply, but his gaze stays a warm and welcome weight on Jinyoung’s back as he serves them. _

_ Everyone starts to trickle out once the chorus starts. Jinyoung bristles the whole time, the relentless screaming battering at his eardrums and prickling unsettlingly at the back of his head. He doesn’t know how Mark and Jackson can stand living so close to the barrier with so much noise, let alone considering the actual source of it. It’s awful, one more terrible thing that this broken world throws at them every day. _

_ Most people agree with him too, hence they’re leaving; soon enough, Jaebeom’s the only one left, tapping his fingers against the bar in time with the turn-of-the-century pop song drifting from the tinny radio. Head aching, Jinyoung hops over the bar and slumps in the stool beside him, rubbing both eyes with the heels of his hands.  _

_ “I’ll drive you home.” Jaebeom says softly. He’s staring at Jinyoung with just his head turned towards him, arms folded on the countertop, a concerned pinch to his eyebrows and his mouth set soft, lips pushed out into a tiny pout. Jinyoung sighs, reaching over to brush his hair back off his forehead. It’s getting long. He’ll have to start tying it back soon. _

_ “You going to Mark’s?” He asks in lieu of a response. He sits back, lacing his hands together and holding them in his lap and leaning forwards obligingly when Jinyoung keeps fussing with his hair.  _

_ “Yeah.” He says simply. Jinyoung nods, fingertips skimming the side of his face until his palm is pressed to his cheek, warm and vital and alive.  _

_ “Okay,” he sighs, head pounding in protest before he even speaks again, “I’ll come with you then.” The corners of Jaebeom’s eyes crease but he isn’t smiling; he tilts his head slightly, cheek pushing into Jinyoung’s hand. _

_ “Are you sure?” He whispers. Jinyoung nods. _

_ “I want to stay with you.” He says, with as much of a cheeky smile as he can muster. Jaebeom huffs a laugh and looks away, fresh pink staining his cheek below Jinyoung’s thumb. He tenderly rubs at the patch of colour, the bloom of heat below it. “I want to see him too,” he continues, smile turning wistful, “he’s been hiding away more than usual.” Jaebeom’s lips turn down at the corners, but he just takes Jinyoung’s hand from his face and stands up, gently tugging him for the doorway. Jinyoung lets himself be led, closing his eyes as the chorus drums against his skull, so much louder outside. He doesn’t bother locking the front door; there’s nothing worth stealing and what would be the point? Everyone knows everyone in this town and there’s no point upsetting that delicate balance for a few bottles of cheap moonshine.  _

_ Jaebeom straddles his bike, reaching down to flick on the engine and waiting for Jinyoung to clamber on behind him. Jinyoung presses close, burying his face in his broad back and winding both arms around his narrow waist, the false leather of his coat worn smooth and soft and smelling of smoke and that sour-sweet smell of anchor-burned dust.  _

_ “Hold tight.” He feels Jaebeom say it more than he hears it and tightens his arms as he starts to drive. _

_ Jackson’s truck is parked outside Mark’s workshop, but neither of them are around, the floodlights Mark sets up for when he works through the night switched off and cold. Jaebeom rolls them to a stop, knocks down the kickstand and accepts the hand Jinyoung offers him to help him off. He doesn’t let go, fumbling with the buttons of his coat one-handed, his right warm in Jinyoung’s as they head inside. _

_ Mark, surprising no one, is still working, cross-legged on his wheely chair in front of his scrap-strewn workbench, Jackson curled up and dozing on the big squashy chair in the corner. Neither of them notice Jinyoung or Jaebeom at first, too engrossed or too far into sleep, but Mark looks up and Jackson stirs when Jaebeom stumbles over a discarded screwdriver, the metallic skitter of it skidding across the tiled floor loud in the otherwise silent room.  _

_ “Oh-” Mark gasps, pliers and scrap falling from his hands as he jumps to his feet. He sways when he’s upright, blood draining from his face like he’s about to faint. Jaebeom lurches forwards, dragging Jinyoung with him, but Mark steadies himself and smiles sheepishly at him. _

_ “Are you okay? Have you eaten today?” Jaebeom demands anxiously. Jinyoung lets his hand go in favour of looping an arm through Mark’s and gently tugging him away from the table; the death grip he has on the chair releases and he stumbles a step, but manages to stay upright.  _

_ “No.” Mark mumbles, looking like he wants to lie, but he’s never been any good at that, especially to Jaebeom. Jaebeom, predictably, frowns and opens his mouth to reprimand, hypocrisy of that particular statement be damned, but Jackson picks then to sidle up beside him and bundle him into a hug, sleep-puffy face squished into his shoulder. _

_ “When did you get back? I missed you.” He mumbles, half-slurred but delighted. Distracted, blushing again, Jaebeom softens from his reproachful stance and pats the back of Jackson’s head, fingers tousling his fluffy black hair.  _

_ “Just now.” He whispers, shooting Jinyoung a suspicious glance when he tugs on Mark’s arm again, gently pulling him away towards the actual functioning kitchen in another section of the building. _

_ "I'm fine." Mark grumbles weakly, not even directed at Jinyoung as such but to the universe at large. Jinyoung snorts and sits him in a rickety metal folding chair, one of many mismatched sat around the stained wooden table. He opens the fridge while Mark continues vaguely mumbling to himself, peering critically at the overall lack of… anything in there. Well, there's a half empty box of nutrient bars and a few mealy apples, but nothing worth eating. Jinyoung sighs.  _

_ "How do you live like this?" He mutters, despite knowing full well that the answer is him and Jackson and Jaebeom making him eat real food. Mark sniffs and doesn't reply, folding his arms on the table and pillowing his head on them. “Guess I’ll order something,” Jinyoung sighs, fumbling in his pocket for his phone, “any preference?” Mark grunts noncommittally, so Jinyoung finds the number for their usual takeaway; for all that it’s the end of the world, people are still people and as such often cannot be bothered to cook whatever they might have lying around.  _

_ He steps outside to make the call, passing Jaebeom and Jackson as they head into the kitchen, Jaebeom’s arm slung over Jackson’s shoulders. Jackson looks about to fall asleep on his feet but Jaebeom smiles, a little lopsided thing that warms Jinyoung’s chest. _

_ He gets their usual from their favourite little family restaurant. By the time he comes back in - only about five minutes later - Jackson’s already asleep again, curled up in a ratty armchair in the corner. Jaebeom’s perched on the arm next to him combing gentle fingers through his hair, while Mark’s pulled his chair over to them and has his head on Jaebeom’s other shoulder. His hands on his hips, Jinyoung sighs, looking over these three men who've made themselves at home in his heart, and thinks he might be the luckiest person in the world.  _

_ Jaebeom’s gone when Jinyoung wakes up the next morning, the four of them having retreated to bed after eating their fill. Mark is too, but his spot in the sheets is still warm, while Jaebeom’s is cold; Jinyoung tries not to think about the anxiety yawning in the pit of his stomach. Jackson’s still sound asleep, curled tightly on his side with his cheek squished into the pillow; Jinyoung smiles, reaching over to brush his hair back off his forehead and smoothing his palm down his cheek. He makes a soft little noise, then cracks an eye open and wrinkles his nose; not as sound asleep as Jinyoung thought, it seems.  _

_ “Morning.” Jinyoung murmurs, more cheerful than he feels. Jackson snorts and rolls onto his back, stretching his arms and legs out with a drawn-out groan. _

_ “Yeah yeah,” he grumbles, lurching upright with a frown, but the kiss he presses to the corner of Jinyoung’s mouth is much sweeter than he sounds, “good morning.”  _

_ Mark is already working when they emerge from his bedroom, surprising no one, but the bags under his eyes seem a little less pronounced and he smiles at them when they come in.  _

_ “Morning,” Jackson chirps, dropping a kiss onto the top of Mark’s head then plopping down into a chair, “did you sleep okay?” Mark hums noncommittally and shrugs, but it’s not an outright no so it could be worse. Jinyoung leans against the wall, watching him pick his way through a mess of wires, wrist deep inside a delivery drone’s underbelly. _

_ “Jaebeom went to go pick up his package,” he says, poking through some screwdrivers then peering closely at something inside, “told me to tell you not to worry.” He sounds caught halfway between amusement and exasperation. Jinyoung huffs and Jackson mumbles something under his breath, already halfway to sleep again with his temple pillowed on the arm of the chair. _

_ “Easy for him to say,” Jinyoung mutters, good-naturedly annoyed, “he’s not the one doing the worrying.” _

_ Shockingly, Jaebeom’s blasé reassurances don’t stop Jinyoung worrying. It nags at him all day in fact, even during his busiest stretches behind the bar; something just feels wrong. His chest is heavy with anxiety, a terrible sense of impending doom that nothing, no reassuring words or rational argument, can allay. It leaves him restless, nervous, twitching at every little noise and clumsily fumbling glasses and bottles, somehow through sheer luck alone managing not to break anything.  _

_ No one else seems affected by this strange apprehension, not until Mark and Jackson, both finished with their own work for the day, turn up at his bar. Jackson can’t stop frowning and Mark can’t sit still, a wordless look of understanding passing between all three of them but none of them acknowledge it out loud. It does seem a little silly, but that doesn’t make the feeling any less real.  _

_ The afternoon bleeds into evening, slowly dragging towards night. The sun, an ominous crimson behind greyish haze, starts to set and there’s no sign of Jaebeom. The homesteaders aren’t far, he’s made the return journey easily in a day before. Something is definitely wrong. Jinyoung, giving up on looking casual, starts to pace the length of the bar, ignoring the reproachful looks Jackson keeps shooting him for agitating Mark - perched on a stool, jaw locked, flipping a bottlecap between his fingers and restlessly bouncing his leg - even more, but Jinyoung can't help it, he's agitated enough for all three of them.  _

_ "Look, he probably just- stayed overnight at a homestead, he's done it before." Jackson says reasonably, finally breaking the tense silence. Jinyoung hums through tightly gritted teeth; logically he knows this, but that instinct, that horrible foreboding deep in his gut, is telling him that's not what's happening here. Mark huffs and stands up, kicking his stool closer to the bar with a discordant screech, the metal legs scraping unevenly against the cracked tiles.  _

_ The chorus makes them all jump; it's loud, louder than normal, and weirdly eager, expectant even. Jinyoung pauses, meeting Jackson's eyes across the bar. He stares back, too much white showing around his irises; neither of them dare move as Mark stalks to the door, his knuckles white on the frame. It creaks open and a hot breeze blows inside, muggy and foreboding; Mark steps out, peering out towards the barrier. The night seems to hold its breath, a long, heavy moment passing over them, stretching thinner the longer it takes.  _

_ "Oh my god-" Mark suddenly gasps, stumbling away from the door, back inside- "he's- fuck, Jinyoung, your gun-!" he calls back over his shoulder, all but tearing the box holding a measly first aid kit off the wall and sprinting out of the door again. Jinyoung stays frozen for a long, painful second, staring in mute horror at Jackson, before they both break; Jackson scrambles after Mark and Jinyoung grabs the shotgun he keeps under the bar and vaults over it. He slings the strap over his shoulder and snatches his gasmask off the hook by the door, fumbling it into place as he takes off after Jackson and Mark.  _

_ He thinks he leaves his stomach and the best part of his heart behind him when he looks up properly, stumbling into a dead sprint and grabbing the gun again; there’s a figure, an horribly familiar figure, stood at the edge of the barrier but coming no closer. Even as Jinyoung watches, tears blurring the already hazy scene, Jaebeom presses his hands to the translucent black surface, fists balled to hit against it, one of them stained starkly technicolour even in the darkness. His mouth moves but Jinyoung can’t hear him, drowned out by the ongoing chorus, its unusual volume making a terrible sort of sense now. Figures, barely silhouettes of unnatural twisted shapes, prowl at the edge of the no man’s land, just waiting for their chance. Jinyoung forces himself to move faster, overtaking Jackson, then Mark, then skidding out into the wastes. _

_ The screaming hits him like a truck, utterly deafening cries of torment and delight and terrible hunger. It  _ hurts _ , battering at his eardrums, an unrelenting cacophony, so loud he can barely hear Jaebeom’s yells despite standing right next to him. Jinyoung grits his teeth and cocks the shotgun, bracing the stock against his shoulder and tracking the nearest thing as it paces, forcing himself not to look too hard at its ruined form. He feels more than hears Mark and Jackson nearby, firing off a warning shot into the thing’s leathery hide and backing up until he’s shoulder to shoulder with Mark when it screeches and peels away. _

_ It hurts almost like that shot tore through his chest when the next scream tearing the air comes from Jaebeom. Jinyoung squeezes his eyes shut for a second, then risks one glance back over his shoulder: Jackson, shaking like a leaf, hauls Jaebeom half a step further into the barrier as Mark, jaw locked and face bloodless, tears a single-use surgical blade from its packet, Jaebeom’s hand, a hole torn through the palm and the sickly yellow-grey-violet veins webbing up his wrist, raised before him.  _

_ Jinyoung swears under his breath and empties the other barrel into the nearest thing, taking vicious delight in the pained yelp it lets out and mechanically reloading the shotgun from the bandolier on the strap. He forces himself not to look when Jaebeom screams again, so loud his voice cracks and the next yell is broken and hoarse, when he hears Mark choke off a sob, when a lull in the chorus lets him hear Jackson frantically, desperately begging Jaebeom not to watch. He doesn’t look until Mark lets out a hoarse shaking breath and grabs his bicep briefly; only once he’s stepped back through the barrier, past the twitching multicoloured lump lying in a pool of moonlit-black blood, does he turn around. He sways, swallowing down bile as Mark finishes knotting a tourniquet around Jaebeom’s forearm above the freely bleeding stump. Jaebeom’s barely standing, only half-conscious and lolling into Jackson, who holds him up with strong arms despite looking fit to faint himself. _

_ “I’ll get your truck.” Jinyoung manages to say. He doesn’t really trust himself to drive, not with how shaky, how wound taut and pumped full of adrenaline he is, but of the three of them he’s the only option; Mark looks like he’s about to be sick, barely able to walk straight as they stumble away from the barrier and Jackson’s got his hands full. “And I’ll call the hospital, tell them we’re coming.” He shoulders the shotgun and sets off at a sprint towards Jackson’s truck where it’s parked in front of his bar.  _

_ Things start to blur. He reaches the truck, starts the engine and by the time he’s blinked Mark and Jackson are in the back, Jackson hammering twice on the window to get him to drive. He falls into autopilot, frantically trying to remember the phone number for the hospital and then trying to make words work to explain what’s happening and numbly wondering what they must look like to passers-by.  _

_ The journey seems to take hours, yet barely minutes have passed when he screeches to a stop in front of the hospital, by far the fastest he’s ever made it from the bar into the city. There’s a small cluster of people, paramedics in mismatched scrubs and a couple of doctors in clean white coats, waiting outside the main door; they hurry over without prompting, helping Jackson get Jaebeom out of the truck bed and onto a wheeled bed. Jinyoung glances over once, sees the red staining the off-white sheets despite the tourniquet and Jaebeom’s terribly pale face, eyes half-open but unseeing, and quickly looks away, breathing through his mouth and clutching at the steering wheel. It’s only then he realises he’s crying, has been hard enough and for long enough that there’s a wet patch on either side of his collar.  _

_ Dimly, he realises that there’s still someone in the truck. He sniffs, wipes his face, then looks back out of the window. It’s Mark, curled in on himself, clutching at his hair so tight he looks fit to rip handfuls out at the roots. Clumsily, Jinyoung fumbles the door open and all but falls out, landing on his hands and knees on the rough concrete then struggling upright on legs that don’t want to bear his weight. Mark doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge him, probably doesn’t even realise he’s there until Jinyoung manages to clamber into the truck beside him and drags him into his arms. He’s shaking so hard his teeth chatter together, barely breathing, dry eyes painfully wide but unseeing; Jinyoung squeezes his eyes shut, holding him as tight as he can and wishing he could find something, anything, to say, to tell him that he had no choice, that Mark had to do what he did in order for there to be even a  _ chance  _ that Jaebeom lives through this and that if he doesn’t it isn’t Mark’s fault, but he can’t make his voice work. He doesn’t think Mark would hear him even if he could. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for being patient with me TT^TT as always, let me know what you thought!! either down below in a comment or on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/)!! pls I would really love to hear your thoughts <3<3 thank you sm!!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope u enjoyed!! updates for this will be quite slow, but each chapter will be pretty long!! there will be three or four chapters, i'm not sure yet but yea!! pls let me know your thoughts either down below or on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/)!! thank you for reading!!!! <3


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